


That Would Be Enough

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Dying is Easy, Living is Harder [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Civil War, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Recovery, Sharon Carter as Captain America, Tony & Amanda Bromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26099683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: Peggy had been the last of them. Now it was just her and Steve against the world, carrying those memories. Being surrounded by her new people helped but also hurt. In a few decades she'd been attending their funerals, planning their memoriam tattoos. Maybe being comforted by  another group she'd managed to bond with. And on and on. Until she couldn't do it anymore.Barnes bumped her knee lightly and she looked over at him, trying to shake off the melancholy. "After the mess with SHIELD, I went back to Russia," he said, quiet enough for the others not to hear. "Amanda came with me. I wanted to find my parents. Two little headstones along a wire fence." He lifted a shoulder. "Cleared the weeds. Left some flowers. We have what we have when we have it."Across the room, she could see Steve making his way across the room toward them. He settled something inside her and she breathed easier. Whatever happened, whatever long string of losses was ahead of her, she wasn't doing it alone. She had him. And he had her.
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Dying is Easy, Living is Harder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/462910
Comments: 41
Kudos: 63





	1. It's Quiet Uptown

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This fic, unlike most of the ones we post, isn't technically finished yet. We tend to balance multiple WiPs at once and bounce between them as interest/desire waxes and wanes. (Current WiP spreadsheet has 27 "active" titles). Since inspiration (and motivation) have been in short supply recently, we made the decision to post some unfinished and nearly finished fics to give you all something to read and hopefully get some motivation and dopamines from your comments and responses. This will be the first of several going up, so brace yourselves for a lot of new titles with sporadic posting schedules. We know that anything "new" is in short supply these days, so we're hoping but sharing some new with you it'll help our brain fogs a bit to get back in the groove - Nyx
> 
> This picks up immediately after the last story finished, so I recommend reading that first.

They got to San Francisco at dinner time and found a restaurant and a camera store. The guy was very nice and helped them pick out a good beginner camera and a spare lens. Sharon looked about as happy as he'd ever seen her while playing with her new toy. "Do you want to start the drive tonight or find a hotel?" she asked, taking a picture of the skyline.

"I think hotel sex sounds like fun," he replied. She turned and took a picture of his face.

"Let's find somewhere expensive with a nice view," she said, tucking into his side. They started walking again and she checked out the picture on the view screen. "I read a book once about an immortal who took a picture of himself every year in the same spot in New York."

"What was the spot?"

"Middle of Times Square," she said with an odd smile. 

"That's certainly a spot that's changed a lot since we were young."

"Yeah." She paused, looking around the buildings. "When I woke up I ran away from the building they had me in. I just ran, hoping to find something familiar. I ended up in the middle of Times Square."

"Jesus." He could only imagine how that must have looked to her.

"I thought maybe I was still dreaming. Or I was dead."

"Heaven would be nicer than Times Square." He pulled out his phone and searched for a hotel. Despite Pierce's jab, he could operate a smartphone perfectly fine.

"I feel like Hell would be pretty brightly colored and loud."

"See, I think it would be lifeless and desaturated, like one of those movies that films everything through a blue filter so it's 'gritty'. Though the whole thing about being alive while everyone you love is dead as an aspect I've long assumed is part of the Hell experience."

She tucked her camera away and slid an arm through his. "People always think Heaven is individualized. You get to relive your perfect day or something. Why wouldn't hell be the same? Bright and loud and fast moving is pretty hellish for me."

"That I will give you. Also, I found a hotel. It looks fancy and expensive, though it's called the Mandarin Oriental and I was told that word's now considered a slur."

Sharon laughed. "Sounds like fun."

The hotel had a nice room with a gorgeous view. They didn't look at it much, instead spending their night taking each other apart. Talking without talking. In the morning, when Steve woke, Sharon was out cold. He told her he wanted to go for a morning run and she grumbled and put a pillow over her head. Well, she was still recovering. 

The hills actually gave him somewhat of a workout, which he considered a plus for his future residency. When he got back to the hotel he heard the water running and found a note from Sharon. _I ordered all the room service._

"This is why I love you," he shouted at the bathroom door.

"Who said I was sharing?" she called back.

He kicked off his shoes and opened the bathroom door to a cloud of steam. "Scoot over, I'm coming in there."

"Who said I was sharing," she repeated as he peeled his shirt off.

"I'll make it worth your while," he said. And then a knock sounded on the door.

He heard her groan. "Raincheck?"

"Wait, so now you _do_ want to share?" he asked, putting his shirt back on.

"I could have been persuaded."

Steve went to the room door and got their breakfast, which was so much food it came with utensils for five. The server look confused that there wasn't a party going on in there. "I have a big appetite," Steve told him.

He tipped him and started setting the food out. Sharon came out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white robe, drying her hair with a towel. She frowned at the food a moment. "Do you think it's enough?"

"You did good." He was stuffed a couple of pieces of bacon in his mouth because he was starving.

She sat next to him and reached over for the eggs Benedict. The sound she made after her first bite was entirely sexual. It made him wish he'd left the food in the hall and gotten in to the shower with her. "I may never get enough of you."

Pausing to chew, she pointed out, "Never is a very long time for us."

He went back to his bacon, not entirely sure how to take that. "True. Though 'I will want you until we start to hate each other' doesn't quire have the same romance."

She laughed. "True." She reached over and rubbed his knee. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to plan for the end before we've even started. I didn't mean anything by it." Shaking her head, she went back to her food. "Sometimes I still have a hard time wrapping my mind about it. And Amanda all but confirmed it when I was in the hospital, so it's fresh."

"You're going to need to sort that out," he said quietly. "Took me decades. You may not end up where you expect. Or who you expect."

His words sobered her and she reached out for him again. "I'm sorry you had to deal with so much alone."

He turned his hand over and held hers, rubbing his thumb along her palm. "I'm so used to it, I think company is more a novelty than the opposite."

"I look forward to some time together in our cabin." She smiled and it was soft and relaxed. Like she was finally wrapping her head around the idea.

"A little peace and quiet."

"Peace would be very nice."

He pulled out his phone and flipped through his email. "The contractor is free to meet and do a walkthrough of the loft this afternoon," he told her. They would be renovating the top floor of a building he owned down by the waterfront into living space for themselves. "I've already has someone come in for trash removal—there was a lot."

"I'm excited to see it," she told him, sipping her coffee. "Could we explore the city a bit more before we head down to the cabin?"

"I will even do tourist things with you," he told her. "Maybe stop and get a new tattoo."

She grinned, looking young and delighted. "Maybe it's time for me to get one of my own."

He grinned back. "I would not talk you out of it."

"I'll just have to decide what to get."

Steve looked down at the ones he could see exposed on his forearms. "Pick something that means something to you. That will trigger a memory you don't want to forget. You live enough years, more memories fade than you want to."

Her fingers trailed along his arm and she tilted her head to study them. "I'll have to think about it.”

Many were in various degrees of fading. Tattoos didn’t last more than a decade on him, but he often got them re-inked, or reimagined. Like her shield, for example. Or the very faded block-lettered 102 she was currently tracing. “That one’s due for a re-inking,” he commented.

"What memory is it?" she asked.

“It’s part of my funeral count.” Every time a friend died, he got a tattoo He’d shown her the ones he maintained in honor of friends they’d shared. “This is a transcription of a scratch count I once had. Started on my wrist, eventually wound up my arm and across my shoulders. I lived in San Francisco from 1975 to 1991. These are my friends who died of AIDS.” There were corners of his life he hadn’t ever discussed with her, mostly because he wasn’t sure what a woman who’d only been out of the 1940’s a couple of years would think, and it never seemed relevant.

She traced the lines of the numbers with her fingertip. "I read about that, the epidemic. It sounded like some sort of medieval plague or something." She lifted her gaze to meet his. "You were in the middle of it?”

“I was. Like all illnesses, I can’t get it.”

Her hand trailed down to hold his. "I'm sorry. That must have been very hard.”

“It was, I think, the most I’ve ever felt my age. I decided it was better to just go live alone up in the hills.”

"Will being in the city bring up bad memories?”

“I have more good memories than bad.” 

She nodded, and leaned forward to kiss him. "I'm glad.”

“So. What terrible tourist trap are we going to? Fisherman’s Wharf? Alcatraz? Chinatown? Well, there’s plenty of non touristy parts of Chinatown.”

"I'd like to go to Alcatraz," she said after a moment's thought. "I remember hearing stories about it when I was young.”

He hopped up. “I will get us tickets. It tends to book up, I may have to name drop you.”

"I'll trade some autographs for touristy fun.”

Steve made a couple of calls, telling people he was her assistant and that she wanted to see Alcatraz. They got VIP tickets for free, and the Park Ranger who managed the island wanted to meet her.

"I'll put on my USO smile," she told him, getting dressed to go out. She moved slower than usual, still stiff from her injuries.

"You sure you'll be okay?" he asked, watching her.

She nodded. "My personal doctor told me normal walking and activity is good for me. I am on strict orders not to save the world again for at least two months."

"I'll enforce that, your personal doctor kind of scares me."

"I'd mock you, but she seems to scare Barnes, so I think it's a legitimate fear."

"I will call us a cab, and not tell anyone Captain America may have been limping."

That got him a smile. "Thank you."

The boat out to Alcatraz was a nice trip along the bay, though it was windy and a little chilly on the water. They went inside because he knew cold, damn wind unsettled Sharon. They sat where they could see the Golden Gate through the windows.

"Remember Morita telling us about that thing?" she asked. "Like he'd built it himself."

He turned and looked at her, the memory jogging another. "Do you remember that ice cream sandwich thing he used to talk about? The company is still in business, I have to get you one."

Her face lit up. "I remember. He always mentioned it when we reminisced about food from home. What was it called? What's That? This-that?"

"It's-It. And it is, in fact, delicious." He unconsciously rubbed the spot on his leg where he had a tattoo of a pair of Japanese characters. They actually meant 'sashimi', thanks to a long-running joke he and Morita had had about Japanese tattoos being copied from take-out menus. Because fate was an asshole, he'd had it inked seven months before they fished Sharon out of the ice.

"Well, then. We definitely need to get some." She tucked her hand into his and gave him a soft smile, like she knew what he was thinking. And maybe she did, or close enough. She'd always been able to read him very well.

"You know," he said. "Your shield was a memorial tattoo. Should I let it fade now that you're not dead?"

She reached out and touched his chest, right there the shield was. "Does it give you happy memories or sad ones?"

"My feelings about it are nowhere near that binary."

"You can let it fade," she said. "I don't know if I want to be defined by that shield anymore."

"That's probably good, I think it's at the bottom of the Potomac under a lot of rubble."

He felt as much as heard her chuckle. "Good riddance, then."

The ferry pulled into the dock at Alcatraz and everyone filed off. They were met by the Park Ranger Steve had been warned about. Sharon did, indeed, put on her USO smile as she shook his hand and chatted with him. She did slowly relax as it became obvious that, while a fan, the guy had served overseas and knew what war was like. There was no gushing about the glory and honor of it all, just genuine respect and appreciation for her work.

He offered to take them on a private tour, which was a lot of fun, and saved them from having to walk around wearing headphones. "There are all sorts of interesting stories about the island the public never gets told. Some of them are supposed to be secret, but it all seems to be on the internet now anyway." He offered Sharon a smile, like he didn't think that was a bad thing.

They got to see some of the behind the scenes things, including the collection of prisoner made weapons - which got Sharon telling stories of her own improvised weapons - and the tunnel made by the only successful escapees.

"Do you think they made it?" Sharon asked the Ranger once he'd told them the story of the hand-made raincoat raft and the three men who'd ridden it off the island.

"I'm supposed to say no," he admitted. "There's no evidence they made it. But. . . well, Frank Morris was a smart man. The tested his IQ as being in the top 2%. He thought of the raft and figured out how to build it and sneak out. He'd have been smart enough to know where the current would go." He pointed past their shoulders. "Right to the bottom of the bridge, on the north side. If they hit mainland then they could have been on a bus to God knows where before the guards knew they were gone."

Sharon bent to peer into the tunnel again. "I like to think they made it," she said. "I know they were criminals and all. But I like the romance of it."

"If you believe top-secret myths, supposedly there actually was another escapee."

Her brows went up and she smiled, her real, relaxed smile. "Really? Do tell."

"It was all classified because the prisoner was classified, _and_ it would have been very embarrassing. Late '50's. This guy was some big, big deal Russian operative. The government stashed him here because they didn't think anything else was secure enough. He's on the rock 48 hours, and then he vanishes." He looked towards the city. "Turns out, the warden had picked up a hooker in the city, brought her back here, and _she_ broke out comrade over there. No one knows how they got off the island. No one knows who she was or anything about her, other than she had red hair. Maybe she drowned, but the guy turned up back in Russia a couple months later. Whole thing was hushed up."

Sharon met Steve's gaze behind the Ranger's back. She looked stricken, but managed to hide it before the other man saw. "That's a hell of a story," she said.

"Probably a tall tale, eh?"

"Redheaded and prostitutes and secret Russian operatives? Sounds like a Cold War campfire story."

"I'm guessing those guys back then were pretty bored."

"God knows we told some whoppers on a long guard duty," she said with a smile. "Half the fun was seeing who could tell the best."

On the ferry ride back to San Francisco, Sharon was quiet, staring out at the water. He didn't have to guess where her mind was. He reached out to close his hand over hers. "You want to talk about it?"

She shrugged still staring into the water. "I don't know what to say."

"Do you want to go look for her?" Sharon probably had no idea how hard it was for him to ask that.

"I wouldn't know where to start." She shook her head. "If she wanted to stay she could have. She dragged me out of the river and ran. I don't know what they did to her, the file Barnes gave me is sparse at best. But if she needs time to sort herself out. . ." She closed her eyes and leaned into him. "I know what that's like."

He put his arm around her. "Well. We'll get our place here fixed up, go down to the cabin. . .and you can start by reading that file. I speak Russian, I can help."

"Thanks," she said softly. She rubbed her ribs. "I'm in no shape for another confrontation anyway."

"The three of us do have plenty of time."

"Yes, we do." For the first time, she smiled a little at that. "All the time in the world."

*

Sharon didn't know what to expect of Steve's building, but clearly the tenants took care of it. It had an old industrial look to it, reminding her of factories and warehouses in the NY of her childhood. She could see why Steve liked it. One entire side was covered in a mural—it was full of artists and all. 

The top floor, boasting an expansive roof deck with unstable looking railings, a house-like structure plopped up there, and a completely inexplicable three story clock tower, was kind of a train wreck. 

The contractor seemed confident, though, and Steve was enthusiastic. She knew he liked design and construction projects.

The floor plans and architectural drawings were a little lost on her, though. So as they got more and more into it, she took her camera and clambered up to the top of the clock tower to get some shots of the city. When they got back to the cabin she was going to need to look into getting a good quality printer for some of her shots.

At the end Steve signed some papers and wrote a check, and they were back at the hotel in time for dinner. They got Chinese food.

"This is so much better than DC Chinese food," Sharon said, dipping what was probably her eighth dumpling into sauce. "It's not even in the same ballpark."

"At least half of why I hate DC is the crappy Chinese food."

"We should learn to make these," she said around a mouthful of dough and pork. "There's no delivery at the cabin."

"We do have internet. We could look it up."

"I like planning things like that," she told him. "Big and little."

He watched her a moment. "We could redecorate the cabin. Paint, furniture. Make it ours. Right now it's all me."

She blinked, surprised. It had never occurred to her to meddle with the cabin. It was his. And she knew she was welcome there. "I don't - I'm not sure what I'd change," she said honestly. "But I'll think about it."

"On good days, I think of it as a monument to solitude. On bad days, it's a monument to loneliness. I don't want it to be either of those things anymore."

That she understood. Her apartment in DC had felt like that. "You need a comfier couch," she offered.

He tilted his head. "With two of us, we might be able to get bigger furniture through The Gate. Or we could get a sectional."

"Sectionals are nice. Offer different seating options."

"The city is probably the best place to go furniture shopping." 

She smiled, feeling weirdly giddy. "How domestic of us."

Couch shopping was more fun than walking around with the contractor. The highlight was the salesman—who didn't recognize her under her baseball cap—staring as they took turns testing the weight and awkwardness of couch pieces. It wasn't every day a blonde girl in a ponytail casually lifted furniture.

They ended up ordering several pieces of a completely modular line of couches. They could arrange it into a big U shape, two smaller couches or even one big square. They'd be able to pick up the pieces by the end of the week, which lined up perfectly with their plans to move down to the cabin.

That night, they curled up in their hotel bed and she said, "I think I'd like to get a tattoo tomorrow."

"What did you decide on?" he asked quietly.

"I'm going to get a redwood." Reaching down, she stroked a hand down the one he had tattooed on his thigh. "Those are my good memories. Maybe someday I'll get something for the battle of New York."

"It's your map," he said. "Build it however best helps you remember your way home."

She stroked his skin, sighing softly. "Were you this philosophical when we were young?"

"Not even close. I had to learn everything the hard way."

Sometimes she still marveled at all he'd gone through. The years he'd lived, watching people die and all the long years stretched out before them. She still couldn't decide if it was better or worse to just wake up to is all changed, the way she had.

She kissed him gently. "Maybe I'll get there someday."

"Take your time. I love you here just as much."

"I love you, too." It felt really good to say it.

They went in the morning to get her ink. Steve had made a phone call to set it up, explaining that his favorite tattoo artist was retired, but would come back to the shop for Steve. It was a little shop in a gentrifying neighborhood, in a part of the city called the Mission. 

“Nineteen seventy-four, I shot myself full of heroin, staggered in this door, and asked the the first guy I saw to tattoo your shield on my chest.”

She looked over at him. "So you were right about the heroin?”

“Yes I was. The dose should have been fatal, and I was just tipsy. But it was something.”

Here's hoping she never needed that information, but it was probably good to have. "Did he do the rest of your tattoos, too?”

“No all, but most. He’s done all my funeral tattoos.” He pushed open the shop door for her. “He’s probably going to ask who died.”

"We could make him a list," she replied, pleased he smiled a little at the joke. No one did black humor like a soldier.

Steve went to talk to the receptionist, but before he could say anything at all, a short, white-haired hispanic man appeared around the side of the divider. “Steve Rogers. Who’s dead now?”

He looked over at her as if to say "See?" before turning back to him. "No one specific. I need some touching up. And my girl wants one," he added with a gesture at Sharon.  
The old man turned and she smiled, offering a little wave. “Hi."

He pointed at her. “Captain America. What’dya know.” He turned to Steve. “I’d been wondering for a while now what you were going to do about the fact that your first Memorial subject came back from the dead. Not that people don’t have lots of Jesus tattoos.” He crossed himself. 

Steve chuckled. “This is Jorge Garcia,” he said to her. “He never shuts up.” 

"It's nice to meet you, Jorge," she said. "Steve speaks highly of you.”

The man smiled fondly. “We’ve known each other a long time. I wish he’d get a couple of gray hairs.”

"You'd never be able to tell with the blond."

"Probably." He waved a hand. "Come on. Come tell me what you want."

They followed him back to a little curtained off area with a big padded chair and lots of equipment. There was artwork on the walls and pictures of tattoos he'd done, including a couple she recognized from Steve's skin.

"I'd like a redwood tree," she told him. "Like Steve's, but on my arm."

"You're like him, yeah? Mostly indestructible?"

"Possibly more so," she confirmed. Her stomach was still a bit sore where she'd been shot. But all of her other wounds were more or less healed. The scars would likely be gone by the time they got down to the cabin.

He pointed at the chair. "Sit. I'll be back in a few."

She settled and watched him go, then looked back at Steve. "Not getting something new?"

"I like to let changes settle first."

Made sense. She certainly wasn't ready to get a tattoo for everything that had just happened. She wouldn't even know where to start. She knew she wanted to get something for the team. And probably something for Nat, someday. But that was a long time from now. "It's funny," she said. "If she hadn't been the Black Widow, I'd probably be getting a memoriam for Nat right now."

"You should," he told her. He had a little Russian nesting doll on ribcage he knew was for Nat--he had one for all the commandos. "Whatever she is now, the woman you knew is gone and deserves remembrance."

She nodded. It was a good point. Nat her friend from the orphanage had died in the Alps, like it or not. She hoped, sincerely, that she could find her and have a conversation that didn't involve punching or stabbing. But they were never going to be those two girls again. "I'll give it some thought."

Her pain tolerance was so high that the tattoo was about as irritating as an itch. Steve certainly had them in places typically described as very painful. It did take a while though, and it was kind of nice to sit and be still.

When it was done she had an elegant, beautiful redwood on her left forearm. Jorge covered it with plastic wrap and gave her a little card with care instructions. "He knows the drill," he said, hooking a thumb at Steve. "If you're like him you don't have to worry about infection. But take care of it anyway, it's good for the ink."

"Thank you," she told him sincerely.

“You take good care of this guy, eh?”

"I try. When he's not taking care of me.”

“Good,” Jorge said. “He always looks so sad.”

“Thanks,” Steve muttered with a chuckle.

She looked over at Steve. He did often look sad. Even when he smiled. Barnes had once told her the same thing about herself. Loss did that. Grief. It weighed you down. Steve was one of the few things that made her feel lighter.

Stepping close, she cupped his face and kissed him. His arms came around her, holding her like they weren’t in the middle of a tattoo shop. Someone whistled. When they parted, she held him so he'd stay close, forehead resting on hers. She smiled, feeling weirdly shy, and he returned it. His had a ghost of he awkward, goofy guy she'd know in the war. "Love you," she whispered.

He did look happy, right this particular minute. “Love you back.”

"Good." She lowed her hand and gave him a pat on the ass. "Your turn in the chair.”


	2. Gonna Fly a Lot of Flags Half-Mast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is it September? Homeschooling is going well. We're both profoundly sad about Chadwick Boseman. 2020 is the worst.

The cabin was just as he’d left it. The road wasn’t really wide enough for the SUV they’d rented to haul the couch, and the scratched up the side. They carried the pieces in one at a time, rearranging the living room four times before they were happy with it.

Sharon collapsed onto it once it was settled, stretching out her limbs like a cat. "It's good to be home.”

Steve sighed deeply, contentedly. Home. “You have no idea.”

Holding an arm out, she beckoned him over. “C'mere."

They settled into a quiet rhythm that summer, mostly disconnected from the outside world—aside from fielding questions from the contractor. They moved furniture around and painted the exterior of the cabin. They built a little covered deck to sit on closer to the cliff edge with the best view of the ocean. He taught her how to climb the redwoods. They relaxed and unwound and healed. 

In October the rain started. It was a wet year, welcome after a couple of years of drought but not fun if you lived off an old, precarious dirt road. The last time the weather had been like that, 15 or 20 years ago, a mudslide had washed out his entire drive and connected main road, stranding him until he could hike out on foot. It was a good time for their place in the city to be ready.

He knew Sharon was a little worried it would be different in the city. That they would lose the quiet equilibrium they had built. He was a little worried himself. The last months had been good for both of them. It was certainly the happiest he'd ever seen her. He was hesitant to do anything to change that. But the weather wasn't going to negotiate, so northward they went.

The contractor had done a fantastic job. The building was reborn, balanced between updated for modern comfort and respect for the original feel of it. The clock tower had been converted into a penthouse that they'd be staying in. As soon as they stepped inside Sharon tipped her head back. “Wow."

“Yeah,” he said. “This is a nice place to be.”

It had the same atmosphere as the cabin, the sense of being separate from the world, despite being in the middle of the city. They put down their bags and explored, climbing up to the very top which they'd decided to use as a bonus room. The city spread out before them, washed grey with rain clouds  
Sharon tucked herself into his arms. "It'll do," she told him, grinning.

She made everything better. Didn’t matter what it was. “I think we need some Dim Sum.”

"I agree. And then I think we need to christen our new home.”

"Lots of rooms," he told her. "Might take a while."

"I feel we're up for the challenge," she replied with mock seriousness.

The wet winter turned into a glorious spring. Barnes and Amanda came out to visit them, and they did a round of touristy things. In the evening, they sat around the fire pit on their massive roof deck, bullshitting and watching the city lights.

"So he spent the night acting like I was his annoying little sister his mom had ordered to babysit. Then I turn to him and tell him the guy I'd been talking to smelled like phosphorus. _Suddenly_ I'm useful." Amanda had a lot of stories about Barnes and seemed to deeply enjoy finally having an audience for them.

"No, you were really useful when you stabbed that guy," Barnes said, idly toying with her hair.

She made a face at him. "You were totally impressed before that. You said I'd make a good supervillain."

"I stand by that."

"I'll second it," Sharon said. She lifted her glass in a little salute, then asked quietly, "How's Barton doing?"

"He's getting better," Amanda offered. "He has dinner with us sometimes."

"For a while he wanted to go wander around the Australian Outback," Barnes said. "I'm glad I talked him out of it. . .because I probably would have had to tag along."

"Is he working for Stark, too?"

Barnes nodded. "He flies the jet for us. No one else can get in and out of the Tower like he can."

Tony Stark had set up an organization for the Avengers under his company, and Barnes had gone to work for them. They'd spent the last year cleaning up the collateral damage of SHIELD's collapse. Among other things, it involved retrieving a lot of stuff that had been stolen from The Fridge.

Tony had made Sharon an offer to join them, last summer when they'd been in the woods. He'd done it by a casual phone call and not a manipulative visit like Fury had, which Steve appreciated. And he took her immediate 'thanks, but no thanks' without a peep of complaint.

"Also he shoots people with his arrows," Amanda added.

"Well, that, too. We've been told to play down that aspect for PR reasons."

Sharon shook her head. "Sounds like you all landed on your feet, at least. I'm happy for you."

"It's not the same without you," he said wistfully.  
"I am also happy," she told him, leaning into Steve's side. "You guys don't need me."

"Maybe. But I still miss you."

She shifted a little, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I miss you too. But I can't do it anymore."

Amanda gave him a stern look. "James, knock it off."

He held up his hands. "Sorry."

"He did this to me when I left," she told Sharon. "He's a nag."

"So you're not working with Stark?"

She shook her head. "No, doing mostly what I was in DC. Staff doctor at a urgent care clinic."

"Though she did somehow scare him into taking blood pressure medication while attending the company Christmas party."

"I have a way with recalcitrant males with big egos," she said with a pointed look at Barnes.

"I'm glad you're happy," Barnes said. "Really. You look far more relaxed than I've ever seen you."

"Thank you." Steve felt her hand curl around his. "The West Coast is good for me."

"Having a life is good for you." He looked over at Amanda. "For all of us, really."

Later, after everyone had gone to bed and they were alone in the dark and quiet, Sharon tucked herself into Steve's arms. "They seem like they've sorted themselves out."

"They both seem far less wound than the last time we saw them."

"Probably helps no one's trying to kill anyone." He felt as much as heard her sigh. "It's good to see them, though. I've missed them."

"We should have them visit more. Any of the others, too. We don't live in the middle of nowhere anymore. San Francisco is a place people like to visit."

"I think I forget that sometimes," she admitted. "But, yeah. Now that we're settled in we should extend invites. I like the peace and privacy with you, but I shouldn't isolate myself. It's not good for me." She rolled onto her back and stretched. "Sometimes I wonder if I should find something to do with myself."

He could tell she's been getting a little restless. He wondered if Barnes had sensed that and it was why he poked her a little about coming back to work. "Like what?"

"I haven't gotten that far. Not superheroing. Just. . . something." She was quiet a moment. "Maybe something with kids in foster care. Or helping at a school. I'm not really sure what skills I have. Other than punching."

"You take really good pictures," he offered.

"I do," she conceded. "But that's my stress relief. I don't know if I want to make a career out of it. Or do it out of obligation." She sighed. "I'm still thinking about it."

"You could just exhibit them. Like any other art. Or make a coffee table book. You'd have no trouble getting a publisher—you're already famous."

She made a quiet little "huh" noise. "I certainly have enough pictures of the city to make into a book. Or the coast and trees."

"We could take a road trip. Take pictures around the country. The Captain's America. Or something."

That got him a little laugh. "I love it, that's so cheesy." Her hand found his in the dark. "I'm happy. And I feel like. . . I've made peace with a lot of things. I'm in a good place. Seems like that's the time to start a new adventure."

"We could rent a convertible. Hit the places we went on the USO tour. See how they've changed."

"Maybe take in some of those weird road side stops," she added, clearly warming to the idea. "Like the giant ball of twine."

"Take selfies in front to of all the state 'Welcome to…' signs."

"Think we could get all forty eight?"

"I think we should also fly to Hawaii just to check. . ." Because now he was thinking about her in a bikini.

He could hear the grin in her voice and wondered if she knew what he'd been thinking. "What about Alaska?"

"Not worth the cold."

"I see. Well, forty nine is a good number."

Sharon planned their road trip with military precision, which Steve enjoyed. He dug up lots of guide books, because they were old and liked actual paper books instead of just the internet. He rented them a convertible Mustang.

And then the day before their departure, his phone rang. The very last piece of their original lives had died.

*

Sharon and Steve flew to DC for Peggy's funeral. It was full of veterans of SHIELD, people from most of the three-letter agencies, other government officials, and a swath of friends and family—plus most of the Avengers came down from DC. She even caught a glimpse of a well-disguised and still technically dead Nick Fury in the back of the church. 

There was a reception afterwards. Steve was swallowed by the family—Peggy's children called him Uncle Steve. She was introduced around, and of course everyone wanted to say hello to Captain America, but she eventually found herself searching out the buffet table, and drifting over to where the Avengers had staked out a group of seats.

"Cap!" Stark said, waving a hand as she reached them. "Join the cool kids."

"Hi everyone." She squeezed Barnes's shoulder as she passed, sinking into the chair next to him. "Thanks for coming."

"She was perhaps the sanest fixture in my fucked up childhood," Stark said. 

"And she was a legend at SHIELD," Barnes added. "Even if I did get a lot of side-eye."

She was impressed even Barton had come down. He hated people. But then, he'd been with SHIELD for a very long time. "She was still Director when I started," he said. "During my interview she asked me to shoot an apple off her head. Like William Fucking Tell."

"Did you do it?" Stark asked, leaning over to get a better look at him.

"No. And apparently that was the right answer. I think she was trying to see if I was a psychopath."

"That sounds like Aunt Peg," he agreed, leaning back.

"The Peggy I knew probably would have taken the shot," Sharon said with a smile.

"With age comes wisdom," Barnes said. 

There was a stretch of silence, and then Sharon asked, "Where's Pepper?"

Stark made an odd face. "She's- Well, we're… It's apparently the thing to say 'we' though I think that's stupid. I don't think I need to explain how little I actually had to do in the-" He cut off and looked over at Amanda. "Wait, am I still not supposed to say anything?"

"You're the stupidest smart person I know," she told him.

Sharon covered her hand with her mouth. "She's pregnant?"

"See, you guessed. Not my fault. She stayed home because she's a human vomit comet right now." He had a very fond, ridiculous smile on now.

"Congratulations," Sharon said and the others echoed her. "That is much needed good news."

"Life's like that, isn't it? Comedy and tragedy all mixed together."

"I'm happy for a little more comedy."

"I think Stark being a dad will be absolutely hilarious," Amanda commented.

"I'll sure as hell be a better one than mine was," he said defensively.

"Hence why I said hilarious, not horrifying." They started bickering and Sharon tuned them out, picking at her food.

Peggy had been the last of them. Now it was just her and Steve against the world, carrying those memories. Being surrounded by her new people helped but also hurt. In a few decades she'd been attending their funerals, planning their memoriam tattoos. Maybe being comforted by another group she'd managed to bond with. And on and on. Until she couldn't do it anymore.

Barnes bumped her knee lightly and she looked over at him, trying to shake off the melancholy. "After the mess with SHIELD, I went back to Russia," he said, quiet enough for the others not to hear. "Amanda came with me. I wanted to find my parents. Two little headstones along a wire fence." He lifted a shoulder. "Cleared the weeds. Left some flowers. We have what we have when we have it."

Across the room, she could see Steve making his way across the room toward them. He settled something inside her and she breathed easier. Whatever happened, whatever long string of losses was ahead of her, she wasn't doing it alone. She had him. And he had her.

She held a hand out to him when he reached them. He caught it and squeezed. "Hello, all."

There was a round of greetings and Barnes got up and snagged another chair from somewhere. "How long are you two in town?" Amanda asked when they'd all resettled.

"Not long," Steve said. "We're going on a road trip. See the country."

"In a Mustang convertible," Sharon added, because it would make Barnes jealous.

He made a face at her. "I better get postcards."

"One from every state," she promised.

"We're even going to visit the world's largest ball of twine," Steve said.

"Way to live dangerously, Cap," Stark drawled.

"We'll come see your ugly building, too."

That made Barnes laugh, too, and Stark made a face. Despite the sad circumstances, she was glad she got to see these guys.

The reception broke up and she said her goodbyes, promising Amanda they'd share a cup of tea before she headed back west, then she and Steve headed back to the hotel. It was only a few blocks from the restaurant so they walked, hand in hand. "End of an era," she commented, though the pain had dulled a bit after an afternoon with her friends.

Steve sighed. "She'd been gone for a while, though, for all practical purposes."

"True." It had always been hit or miss if Peggy would know what year it was or if Sharon was alive. There was a lot of tears. "Makes it a little easier."

"If I'm lucky, this will be my last memorial tattoo for a while."

She held up her free hand to show him crossed fingers and it made him smile. "I am still looking forward to our road trip. I think we need it even more now."

"It will give us something new to pay attention to."

"Distraction is important," she agreed. "And I think she would have approved. She loved her adopted country."

"That she did. I'm glad she was too out of it to really understand what happened with SHIELD."

That had been a blessing. They'd talked on the phone a few times while Sharon was in California, when Peggy was having a good day, at least. And while she knew there'd been a shake up, the full scope of the problem had been neatly hidden from her.

They reached the hotel, stepping into the brightly lit lobby. "I am looking forward to getting out of these heels," she confessed.

"The room has a decent sized bathtub," Steve offered.

He knew her very well. "A bath sounds heavenly."

They got to the elevator bank, and pressed the call button. When it opened she was startled to see Barnes on the other side. He looked flustered. "There you guys are."

She glanced at Steve, then back to Barnes. "What's wrong?"

"Come upstairs," he said, stepping back into the elevator. "There's something you need to see."

Now very concerned, she joined him in the elevator, Steve at her heels. Barnes led her down the hall to his room. Amanda was in there, watching TV. Sharon couldn't read her face, which worried her even more.

It was a newsfeed of some sort of explosion. A bomb at a UN conference in Austria. She was about to ask why this was something she had to see—she was retired, damn it—when the TV showed a picture of the person thought to be responsible.

The footage was grainy, some sort of security camera, but it was Natasha. The newscaster was calling her the Black Widow, and talking about her being Captain America's former friend, so it wasn't just her.

Sharon pressed a hand over her mouth. "How- I don't understand. Why _now_?" She hadn't been actively looking, but she had enough contacts that she'd have been contacted if Nat had popped up before now. It had been a year of utter silence.

"I have no idea," Barnes said. "Maybe. . . maybe she's taking contract work? I mean, she has to eat."

"Bombs are not at all Nat's thing," Steve said. "I've never heard of them being the Black Widow's either."

"Yeah, but they're not hard to make," Barnes replied.

"It's the opposite of what she did, though." Sharon looked at Amanda in surprise and she shrugged. "I read the files, too. I'm just saying, if you're going to hire Black Widow to do something, wouldn't you want her to do what she's good at? There must be dozens of people who could plant a bomb."

"Evidence indicates it was her," Barnes said gently.

There was a knock on the door, and then Amanda came back a moment later with Tony Stark. "Oh, good, you've seen it."

"I need to get there," Sharon said. "If they go after her they're going to get killed."

"Hill is on the phone downstairs trying to convince the JTTF to let us bring her in."

Sharon didn't comment that she really didn't care what the acronym said. She was going regardless. But permission would probably make it easier. With one last look at the TV she said, "I should go change."

"I have your shield," Stark said. "It was fished out of the Potomac and somehow I ended up with it."

She felt a sharp stab of grief and determinedly didn't look at Steve. "Thanks."

Barnes was frowning at her, like he could tell what he was thinking. He probably could. "We have procedures now. We need to wait for authorization."

"I'm not an Avenger," she reminded him. "I don't have to wait for shit."

"If you don't want to be arrested by the German Police, yeah you do." That was Stark.

"Bet I could take 'em."

"Okay," Amanda said, a touch too loudly, to get everyone's attention. "How about everyone goes back to their rooms to change out of your funeral clothes while Tony makes a phone call to see if the team's getting called in." She met Sharon's gaze. "If you want to get there before anyone else, authorization and intel will help with that."

Steve clapped his hands. "That sounds like a good idea." He got between Sharon and Stark. "Intel," he said quietly.

Huffing air out of her nose, she nodded and let him herd her towards the door. She wasn't a spy and a year of poking hadn't found Nat. Even if they didn't tell her she could go, maybe she could glean some useful information. 

"I can make some calls, too," he said once they were in the hall. "I'm still a name of note in the intelligence world."

She nodded again and rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm sorry," she said softly, though she wasn't really sure what for. Just that she felt awful.

He held out his arms for her. "Come here."

It wasn't what she'd expected, but she'd take it. She stepped into his arms, hugging him and burying her face in his shoulder. "They'll have to let the Avengers go get her. You're the only ones likely to survive the attempt."

That was depressing on a different level, but gave her a little bit of hope. "I can't believe she did that, Steve. I can't. She pulled me out of the river."

"I know," he whispered. There wasn't much he could say.

For a few minutes it was enough to just hold onto him and breathe his scent. "Okay," she said finally. "Now I really want out of these shoes."


	3. Knock Me Down, I Get the Fuck Back Up Again

The Widow knew they would find her. The moment she saw her face on that paper, she should have fled. Off the grid, out of Europe. But her notebooks were at her apartment. Even if she could leave her go bag, her money, her supplies. . . she needed her notebooks. Or she'd have to start all over again.

She took back alleys and side streets, avoiding the crowds and shopping district. she'd chosen the apartment for its many entrance points, exactly for this. Once in the building, she sprinted up the narrow staircase and into her apartment.

Only to find the woman from the bridge standing in her kitchen, flipping through one of said notebooks. 

"What are you doing here?" the Widow demanded. The English felt odd and rusty in her mouth, but she knew it was what she should speak right now.

She turned slowly, closing the notebook. She was in her silly red, white, and blue uniform, shield dangling off her arm. She studied the Widow, an up and down movement of her eyes, then said, "Do you know me?"

"You're Sharon," she said after a moment's pause. "I read about you."

"I know you're nervous," she replied. "You have every right to be. But I have always been able to tell when you're lying."

With effort and practice, she kept her mouth from twitching into a smile. She would have to write that in her note books."I didn't do that. In Vienna. I don't do that anymore."

"I believe you," Sharon said. "But a lot of people think you did. And the only way to prove them wrong is to come with me."

She shook her head. "I can't. I can't go back."

"You wouldn't be going back. Not to Hydra. Not to what the did to you. I promise."

They stared at each other for a long moment. "I don't. . . I don't want to fight you."

"The feeling is mutual." Sharon's mouth quirked a little. "My personal doctor agrees. Loudly. In my ear." Sobering, she said, "Please, Nat. Come with me. We'll figure it out."

"What's going to happen if I don't?"

She was quiet a moment. "I'm supposed to let the Avengers take you in the hard way."

"How many?" she asked, as if she had a chance of fighting them off in any number. She'd barely survived her last fight with Sharon.

"Nat." There was something about the exasperation in those three letters that was just so fucking familiar. A much a part of her as her red hair.

She glanced at the windows, pictured the layout of the building. The neighborhood. "Sniper on the roof across the street. He wants me to see him. The archer. The other Russian, he's been my target. He's in the hall. And. . . Iron Man is hovering off my fire escape." She looked back at Sharon. "There was another one. Another target from the bridge. I think I knew him, too." She's known him back when she was Natasha. But that was impossible. "Is he here?"

Sharon was watching her carefully, holding herself still and ready to attack if needed. That had only happened when she'd mentioned the other man. Interesting. "He is. He and my loud doctor are in a van outside the perimeter. He's not, technically, an Avenger."

For a long moment, they stared at each other. "I need my bag."

She nodded, then placed the notebook she'd been holding on the little formica table next to her. "What ever you need."

"It's under the floorboards. You're standing on it."

"Ah. Right." She stepped to the side, then along the wall so the Widow had plenty of room to start ripping the floor up. 

She got her bag, and snatched her notebook off the table. "Okay."

Sharon gestured to the front door and waited expectantly. Clearly, she didn't want the Widow at her back. Smart. She walked past her, towards the door and heard Sharon say, "Coming your way, Barnes."

He stood on the other side, with a very large gun aimed right at her head.

"Barnes," Sharon hissed when she saw him.

"Whatever, I'm not losing my other arm just yet."

He backed his way down the stairs like that. Every fiber of her being itched to fight him, to run, to do something. Instead she gripped her bag tighter and followed him out into the street. It had been cleared of civilians. The only person she could see was Iron Man, who was waiting on the sidewalk with half the weapons in his suit aimed at her.

Based on her sigh, Sharon disapproved of that, too. The four of them stood on the sidewalk for an endless few minutes before a convoy of vans pulled up in front of the building. The back of one opened to reveal the man who'd been with Sharon last year. "They want her in that one," he said, gesturing to a different vehicle.

"Why?" Sharon asked.

"There's restraints," Iron Man said.

"That's not necessary," Sharon told them, sounding angry and stubborn.

People began getting out of the other vehicles, all of them armed. Widow crouched a little, sure there was about to be a fight. Iron Man's suit sprouted more weapons.

The blond man—his name was Steve. She knew that now that she saw him. He put his hand on Sharon's arm. "It's one of transport pods SHIELD used to use."

The civilians with guns were nervous, twitchy. They weren't necessary, there was plenty of firepower already aimed at her. But this was the kind of situation where one person loses their patience, and a bunch of people die. She didn't want any blood on her hands. Not anymore. "I'll go. It's okay."

"Nat," Sharon said quietly.

"It's okay," she said again, firmer. Very slowly, she handed her bag to Steve, then raised her arms. Barnes moved aside and gestured with his gun and she stepped towards the truck they'd indicated.

There was a box, mad of bullet proof glass (she assumed), containing a chair, which had restraints on it. It was nauseatingly familiar. She turned and looked back at the others as she climbed in. A woman she didn't recognize had come out of the other van and was talking to Iron Man, getting him to close his weapons. They strapped her wrists to the arms of the chair. Barnes was still following her with his rifle. Sharon looked like she wanted to pick a fight.

Sharon always wanted to pick a fight. With someone she couldn't possibly beat.

The one missing man from the team, the sniper, finally showed himself, sauntering around the van with his bow slung over his shoulder. He glanced at the Widow and the van, and then at Barnes and Sharon. He walked right up to Barnes, wrapped his hand around the barrel of the gun and pushed it upwards. "Enough."

Barnes clearly wanted to argue. He had a very similar "want to fight" face to Sharon. The man with the bow looked like he'd be happy to go a few rounds. Then the woman with Iron Man said, "James," in a warning tone and he turned and stalked over to the other van.

Her mouth quirked a little. Clearly, Sharon continued to draw big personalities to herself. 

They closed the van doors then. She wasn't sure where Sharon went. She was locked in a box, which was inside a compartment of the truck she was in. There were heavily armed guards outside her compartment.

She was surprised when, after the truck got underway, the compartment door opened and the archer stepped in.

Tilting her head, she watched him move, slowly sinking into a hunker against the wall outside her box. He had not been in DC when she'd attacked Sharon. But she'd seen pictures of him from the battle the Avengers had fought. He was older than the others - except maybe Iron Man - and currently looked tired.

He studied her, and then the wall again. Finally he said, "Sharon went in the other van. They said nobody was allowed in here."

She watched him a moment. "Are you nobody?"

"The guards are former SHIELD. They're afraid of me."

That was interesting. "Are you scary?"

"I spent some time as a zombie once. Nothing compared to you, but I did bad things. Killed people. SHIELD agents." He looked at her. "It was me. . . except it wasn't." 

She met his gaze, feeling a surge of emotions she didn't recognize, couldn't name. "I don't remember what I did."

He looked down. "Well. Maybe you're better off."

The Widow wasn't sure it was in anyone's best interest to compare misery. But she did feel a little pang of. . . something. Kinship, maybe. "What's your name?"

"Clint," he said. "What's yours."

Twisting her wrists in their restraints, she surprised herself by saying, "Nat."

That got her the ghost of a smile. "Nice to meet you, Nat."

*

The ride back was full of tense silence, as Sharon, Stark, and Barnes were all clearly pissed off. There wasn't anything Steve could do, other than hold Sharon's hand and occasionally make eye contact with Amanda Newbury.

She looked to be torn somewhere between worry and exasperation. "So," she finally said. "Without yelling at anyone else, can someone tell me what's happening next?"

"Romanov is being brought in for psychological evaluation," Barnes replied.

"By someone from JTTF?"

He lifted a shoulder. "Someone they called in, anyway."

"What are they going to test," Sharon asked. "How brainwashed and tortured she was?"

Barnes sighed. "Whether she's a danger to herself or others. Whether she's sane and legally competent. I assume. That's what they were looking for when I did it."

He saw a flicker of guilt cross her face, and she was quiet. Amanda reached over and curled her hand around Barnes's.

"Can I be there?" Sharon finally asked quietly.

"You should be able to watch," he offered.

Steve rubbed Sharon's arm. "I'll make some noise if you can't."

She nodded, taking a slow breath in through her nose. "I told her it would be all right."

"Did you think you were just going to scoop her up and take her back to California?" That was Stark. Who sounded like he was in a mood.

"Would have been nice," Sharon replied, clearly still ready for a fight.

"She killed a hell of a lot of people."

"That wasn't her, that was Hydra. It's been a year and she hasn't hurt anyone."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You cannot possibly know that."

"Steve and I have both been keeping an ear out for her. There's been nothing."

There was a tense silence, then Stark said, "Well, two of the people she killed were my parents, so I'm for erring on the side of caution."

Sharon sucked in a sharp breath and looked over at Steve. He put his arm around her, not sure what there was to say to that.

They sat through the rest of the ride in silence, pulling into the JTTF building just behind the van Nat was in. Once out of the van ride from hell they were met by the head of the task force, a man named Ross, who'd given them the go ahead to go in.

"Nicely done," he said, sounding sincere if a little smug. "Not a bullet fired."

Sharon was busy watching them roll Nat's little box off her transport. "I told you I just needed to talk to her."

"There was no way to know what state she would be in."

Steve saw her lips purse, but all she said was, "I want to see her being interviewed."

"We don't involve civilians in our investigations," he replied, and gestured vaguely behind him. "We'll find somewhere for you to wait."

She turned her glare onto him, the one that had made Colonels and Generals wither. Barnes plucked at her sleeve. "Come on. At least get out of your gear before starting an incident."

If she was going to start an incident, it was probably better to do it while she was still in her gear. Steve didn't say that out loud, but when Sharon met his eyes, he could see she'd thought the same. She did let Barnes tug her away from Ross, towards the main part of the building.

"I feel like I'm going to punch someone before this is over," she commented.

Steve didn't disagree with that assessment. He hoped it didn't land one or both of them in jail. They were too long lived for shit like that.

After finding privacy so Sharon could get out of her combat gear, they ended up in a control room of sorts, with a bank of monitors with Ross and the rest of the gang. Barnes and Stark looked like they might have been fighting again and Amanda was carefully keeping herself between them at all times.

Because this situation absolutely needed to be tenser, Ross turned and said. "They're about to start the interview. I'll need the civilians to clear out. We can put you in a room upstairs to wait. You'll be able to see, but not hear."

Sharon was almost audibly grinding her teeth but turned and went where he pointed. Steve followed and Amanda joined them a moment later. "I'm sorry if you wanted alone time, but they remembered I don't work for them either."

"Are Barnes and Stark going to have a fist fight of some sort?" Steve asked.

Her shrug was in no way reassuring. "Clint will probably stop them if it comes to that."

Sharon surveyed the room. "I don't see him."

"That's because I'm up here," Barton said from the back of the room.

They all jumped a little and Amanda sighed. "Well, you won't do much good with the fistfight."

"They're adults," was all he said. On the screens, they could see the interview starting. Barton glanced around, then leaned over and hit a button on the conference phone on the table, piping in the interview's audio.

Sharon turned around to look at him, surprise and gratitude on her face. He nodded, and tossed the folder he was holding on the table. It contained the photos taken of Nat at the bombing. Amanda leaned over to look at them.

The shrink began asking Nat questions, vague things Steve assumed were supposed to make her comfortable—as if anyone could be comfortable while shackled to a chair in a glass box.

"Why did they even release this photo?" Amanda asked. "Whenever they do that in the civilian world half the time it ends up with a vigilante mob going after some innocent but similar looking person. These guys should know better." 

"There are a lot of things these guys should be better at," Barton muttered. 

"Get the populace to do your legwork?" Steve offered.

"It's a great way to flush someone out of hiding," Sharon said, still staring at the screen. "Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. You've got seven billion people looking for the Black Widow."

Steve turned. "You're saying someone framed her to find her."

She looked up at him. "A year. With all your contacts and all my clout and we turned up nothing. This picture goes out and within a day she's sitting in a box."

Amanda was still looking at the picture. "But it doesn't guarantee whoever bombed the building gets her. It guarantees the JTTF does."

Steve and Sharon both looked at each other and then the screen, the man down there alone with Nat. Then everybody looked at each other. Barton muttered, "Shit."

"I'm going to get James," Amanda said.

And then the lights went out.

*

Sharon had never really tested the upper limits of her strength. She'd never really met an object heavy enough to push it. Certainly the last year it hadn't come up much. There was no furniture that was a match for her.

Of course, she'd never had the opportunity or desire to haul a helicopter out of the air before.

One of these days her and Nat were going to have to stop ending up in rivers.

Sharon dragged Nat to the edge of the water and took a moment to catch her breath. She was half certain some of the JTTF goons would show up and drag them both back into the basement. She was just debating how far she could run with Nat on her shoulders when Barnes appeared at the edge of the woods. "Oh, good, you're not dead."

"Neither are you," she said, still panting a little. She'd lost him in the chaos of the lights going out, but she was sure he'd thrown himself into the fray like everyone else.

"I found them," Barnes called over his shoulder before coming down to help her with Nat. 

A moment later Steve came crashing out of the woods.

"Hi," she said tiredly. "I pulled the helicopter down." He probably already knew that, but she felt the need to explain herself.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, looking her over like he might dispute any claim she wasn't.

"I don't think so." She let Barnes take Nat from her and tried to roll her shoulder a little. "I think I'm sore." Steve reached to give her a hug, but that at least seemed to satisfy him. He kept an arm around her as the followed Barnes.

On the other side of the trees there was a black SUV with government plates. As they approached, the back door opened and Barton popped his head out. "You found them. I'm impressed."

Sharon came to a stop, reaching to grab Barnes's arm. "Wait, don't—"

Stark stuck his head out the driver's side window. "Have a little faith, Carter. We're not going back to JFTT."

That didn't reassure her at all. "What happened to erring on the side of caution?"

"That was before JFTT was compromised," Barnes said. "Which it clearly is. Barton and I convinced him regrouping in private was a good idea." 

"Can everyone get in the damn van before we're spotted?" Amanda called from inside.

"This is a government vehicle," Steve said as Sharon climbed in and helped Barnes get Nat in.

"I borrowed it," Barton said.

"He stole it," Barnes clarified. 

"Technically."

"Where are we going?" Sharon asked the car in general as they started moving again.

"We were thinking find a spa, maybe take in a show," Stark told her.

Amanda sighed deeply. "James knows a safe house.”

Steve and Sharon sat on either side of Nat, each holding an arm. They hadn’t discussed it, but if she woke up it could get bad. They thought a lot alike sometimes.

"Now if anyone stops us," Stark said, winding into city traffic. "We're just a nice family having a road trip."

Amanda turned back to look at Barnes. "I told you I should have driven."

"Don't make me separate you two."

Sharon couldn't help smiling a little as she shook her head. 

The safe house was more of an abandoned building in a shady area. If it had been an official safe house from the SHIELD days, it must have been a shitty one. They pulled the SUV up around back and hauled Nat inside, chaining her onto a heavy piece of machinery.

Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Sharon paced while Amanda sat Stark down, removed his sunglasses and started examining a nasty shiner. “This is the last time I let someone tell me to leave my suit in the car,” Stark grumbled. 

"Nat did that?" Sharon couldn't imagine who else would have, but couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Hell of a right jab."

"She put James through a table," Amanda commented, cracking an ice pack and shaking it to get it cold. "I'll be checking your back when I'm done here, don't think I forgot.”

“She stared at me like she’d never seen me before,” Barnes said. “And this is the third time she’s tried to kill me, you’d think she’d recognize me.”

Sharon sighed and glanced back at her. "She didn't seem to recognize me, either. She threw me down an elevator shaft."

"Do I need to look you over, too?" Amanda asked, sounding very much like an exasperated mother.

"No, I'm all right. It wasn't a long fall.”

“Afterwards she pulled a helicopter out of the sky,” Stark said. “I was impressed."

"I was not aware I could do that," she admitted. Her shoulders ached a little, but she wasn't having trouble moving. She doubted Amanda had anything in her bag that would help her anyway.

Amanda tossed her more ice packs which Steve cracked and laid on her shoulder. Apparently, the bag was magical.

"So," Barnes said. "Way I see it, she's either going to wake up reasonable or crazy. Feels like we should have plans for both possibilities.”

“If she’s crazy, we’ll need to turn her in. . . somewhere,” Stark said. “Hell if I know where, though.”

Sharon sighed, though she couldn't argue the logic. If whatever the shrink had done to her was permanent, she'd need to be contained. By more than just her. She went over her short list of people she trusted. "What's Fury up to nowadays?”

“Roaming Europe undercover getting intel on remaining Hydra cells,” Barton said. “He might have suggestions.”

"Anyone have a way to contact him?"

"I do," Amanda said. "But he doesn't always answer promptly.”

Stark looked at her. “Why do you have his number?”

"I'm his doctor, I periodically nag him about his cholesterol and blood pressure.”

“I don’t think this is going to be good for his blood pressure,” Barton said.

"Probably not."

"All right," Barnes said. "And if she's friendly."

"We try to figure out what he wanted from her," Sharon said. "He's the bigger threat right now.”

“We have to think he—whomever set her off—going to be looking for her,” Steve said. “He or they killed a lot of people to flush her out.”

"What if he got what he wanted when he had her?" Barnes said. "There was a pause between the lights going out and us getting down there.”

Steve turned. “You think he just wanted information?”

"I don't think he intended to trigger her and lose her. He made a choice to throw her at us so he could get away. He wouldn't do that if he hadn't already gotten what he wanted.”

“What could he have wanted?”

There was a groan and the sound of chain moving and they all turned to see Nat stirring. Sharon got slowly to her feet. "Maybe we'll find out.”

Nat opened her eyes and stared at them all. “Sharon?”

She stepped to the front of the crowd. "Which Nat am I talking to?"

She studied her a moment, then seemed to smile a little. "We met in the orphanage. You used to stuff newspapers in your shoes."

Relief poured through her. "Can't read about that."

"I'm almost certain that is in every book ever written about her," Amanda muttered to Stark, who snorted.

Natasha looked at her a very long moment, then held out her free hand with just her pinky sticking out. Sharon swallowed around the lump in her throat and reached out to hook her pinkie around it. "Nat. What did he want with you?”

“He wanted. . .” She shook her head. “What did I do? I don’t remember. He had the book and. . ”

"The phrase 'path of destruction' comes to mind," Stark offered. Sharon was beginning to wish she could do this without an audience.

Nat shook her head. "I knew it. Everything Hydra did to me. It's all still in my head. All he had to do was say the words and. . ." She gestured at Stark.

“Who was he?” Sharon asked.

Nat shook her head. “I don’t know. But my memory has holes, so. . .” She took a breath and said, “He was asking about Siberia. Where I was kept.”

"Okay. Anything special about there? Anything he might want?”

After a pause, she said, “The other Black Widows.”

There was a moment of silence, then Sharon asked quietly, "There's more of you?"

She nodded. "Years ago. . . maybe thirty? They got their hands on some more serum and used it on some volunteers. There were five survivors.”

“All women?” Steve asked, and Nat nodded. “The serum they made for me killed 6 men before they tried it on me. It was much harder on me than it had been on Sharon. Howard had a theory it worked best on women.” He looked over at Tony. “He kept working on it.” 

Stark frowned. "Thirty years ago would have been right around when he died.”

“Zola said Hydra killed him to keep him silent,” Barnes said. “As I recall, he didn’t say about what.”

Nat was watching them. “You’re Howard’s son?”

"So says the birth certificate.”

“The news said I killed your parents.”

"So say Hydra's files."

"When we fought last? On the helicarrier?" Sharon said. "Barnes released all of SHIELD and Hydra's files. Including a lot of your missions. One of them was killing Howard and Maria Stark.”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “They wiped that from my memory. I am sorry. He was my friend, but they could make me do anything.”

Stark's jaw twitched, but he nodded. "I know a thing or two about torture." Sharon gave him a surprised look and he shrugged. "Not saying I want to grab a beer with her. But I can probably avoid punching her again."

"You didn't really punch her the first time," Amanda said.

"Shut your entire mouth.”

“So Howard had more serum,” Steve said. “And Hydra got it and made more Black Widows. How bad are they?”

"Bad." Nat shook her head. "They were vicious, stronger than I was. Almost entirely uncontrollable. They were never put in the field after initial training proved them to be so unreliable. They were put in cryo and left there.”

“Would he be able to control them?” Stark asked. “The shrink guy who wanted their info.”

She shook her head. "I don't know. He had the book they used on me. Maybe they have the same sort of triggers.”

There was a moment of silence, then Barnes said, “God damn it, I don’t want to go to Siberia.”

Sharon walked over and unchained Nat, who rolled her shoulders and stretched. "We need to hurry, if we have any chance of beating him there.”

“It would go a lot smoother if we could get some sort of official approval,” Stark said.

“I don’t think we have that kind of time,” Steve replied. “JTTF has got to be freaked out by this point. They’ll lock down to ‘assess’, and probably arrest half of us.”

"All we have now is the word of an accused assassin that just tore up their headquarters," Amanda pointed out. "Even if they were in a giving mood, we have no evidence."

Sharon rubbed the back of her neck, then planted her hands on her hips. "We need to get to the facility immediately. Hopefully there we'll get something concrete that will make begging forgiveness easier.”

“Barton,” Stark said.

“I’ll go get the jet.”

Amanda was peering in her bag. "I should go raid a pharmacy for more supplies."

"You're not coming," Barnes and Stark said in virtual unison.

She didn't even look up from her bag. "You're adorable when you think you can tell me what to do.”

“I offered you a job,” Stark said. “You said you were done fighting.”

"I don't want to do it full time. Cleaning out terrorist cells, seeing suffering I can't do anything about. Arguing with James about whether or not I'm in too much danger." Barnes made a face but kept quiet. "This is different. This is end of the world shit. And you all can't manage to walk into a building without blowing something up and getting hurt. So, yes. For this, I'll tag along.”

Steve looked over at Sharon. “Cap?”

She met his gaze. "Five evil super soldiers. Sort of feels like what I was made for.”

He nodded, and she knew where she went, he would follow.

She looked over at Stark. "Don't suppose you have a secret armory nearby we can gear up in?”

He grinned. “On the plane.”

They had to pile back in the van of road trip hell to meet Barton and the jet, which was even more fun with Nat awake and mystified at Amanda and Stark's banter.

There was, in fact, a well stocked armory in the jet. Amanda even seemed pleased with the medical supplies.

“You never know what kind of emergency might arise,” Stark said.

"You do a lot of surgery on the plane?" she asked, peering in a drawer that had packets of pre-sterilized scary things.

“Banner patches people up, assuming he’s him, and also not passed out or catatonic.”

"Lovely."

Sharon sat next to Steve. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this," she said quietly.

“Eh, I think I still know how to swing a punch.”

She reached over and took his hand. "I just know. . . you're a lot more retired than I am.”

“I know,” he said. “But I was made for this, too. And I don’t want any more funeral tattoos.”

"I feel better going with you beside me," she admitted.

“So do I.” He smiled. “I always did want to go into battle with you.”

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. "We'll kick some ass.”

“And then we’ll go on our road trip.”

"Yes," she promised.


	4. Snatch a Stalemate from the Jaws of Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, how is it October?

The flight out to Siberia was long, and there wasn’t much to do in the back of the jet. Barton was flying, and Tony came back to talk to Steve and Sharon. “I called the rest of the Avengers,” he said. “They’re gearing up, but I don’t think they’ll make it.”

Sharon nodded. "It'll be nice to have back up, hopefully.”

“It’s probably isolated enough we can let the Hulk out without ending up on the news.”

"Hulk vs a few super soldiers would even up the odds.”

“That’s the theory. If we get there and this we can wait for them, it might be a good idea.”

"If we're very lucky we'll beat him there and be able to handle it ourselves.”

Steve chuckled. “If I had wood to knock on, I’d do it.”

Amanda did the rounds a little while later, handing out MREs and power bars and muttering about how they'd all forget to eat without her. Which prompted Barnes to start listing all the times he'd had to remind her to eat. To which she responded by taking his food away.

Steve did not entirely get their dynamic, but it seemed to work and was occasionally entertaining to watch.

Natasha was napping in the back, and he could see Sharon watching her. “How are you doing?” he asked her.

"I'm not sure. For a second there she was almost someone I recognized.”

“Me too,” he said. “Maybe she is really still in there.”

“Maybe."

He rubbed her back. “She’s helping us. That’s something. She remembers. I think it sounds like they did something really awful to her.”

"I think they did," she said quietly. "When all this is settled, hopefully I can get some help for her.”

“Barton might have some suggestions. I think he’s familiar with that sort of thing.”

She glanced up at the front. "He certainly is. If he's willing, he'd probably be good to talk to her.”

“See if Barnes will talk to him. They’re thick as thieves.”

Sharon smirked. "Yeah. Barnes is super persuasive.”

“Assuming they let us back into the US, Big Sur might do her some good, too. We could build a little cabin over by the workshop area so she can have some privacy.”

"You won't mind having my crazy sister living in the back yard?”

“Hey, if anyone has experience in rehabbing recently defrosted immortals, it’s me.”

She laughed a little and leaned on his shoulder. "That's true. You did a good job with me.”

“We’re the only people who remember the real her. She’s going to need that.”

"Yes."

Barnes made his way over. "Barton says we're about half an hour out, if you want to start gearing up.”

“Right,” Steve said. Time to go find himself a gun.

The jet was well stocked, he had to give Tony that. He found enough gear to make him feel somewhat confident about going out into the field and turned to watch Nat peruse the gun selection. 

“Am I crazy—and I might be—or did you used to be like a foot shorter?” Nat asked.

Steve laughed. “Yeah. The serum I got was enthusiastic.”

She looked him up and down. "It's been a long time.”

“Seems even longer than that.”

"Were you awake for it all?”

“Yep. Watched it all live in real time. Been a hell of a century.”

She nodded slowly, looking at a middle distance. "I remember. . . flashes. Snapshots. But most of it is meaningless.”

“Doesn’t sound like they had you awake much.”

"I don't think so. And when I was. . . well, they weren't exactly letting me mingle with the crowd.”

“Everyone sit down and strap in, we’re starting our descent,” Barton called.

Nat gave Steve a brusque nod and went to find her seat. He went to go sit with Sharon, who was in a stealth suit version of her Captain America outfit, watching Barnes and Amanda bicker.

"Stark is letting me borrow parts of a suit, I'll be safer than you."

"If you stayed on the jet, you'd be even safer."

"But not much use as a field medic.”

The jet set down in the snow outside a very nondescript looking bunker in the middle of nowhere. Steve thought it might be a missile silo. “Oh no,” Tony said. “This isn’t ominous at all.”

They all lined up at the back of the plane, taking in the terrain. "There's tracks in the snow," Nat said. "We didn't beat him."

Sharon grimaced and shifted her shield. "Well. Let's go see what we've got.”

They crept out of the plane and across the snow. It had been a very, very long time since Steve had been in any sort of group fight, so he hung to the back and took his cues from the rest of them.

Tony took point once they reached the building, so he could light the way for the rest of them. They had to go singled file down a long hallway, to an elevator that just barely fit all of them.

“I hope this goes better than my last crowded elevator,” Sharon muttered, and Barnes snorted.

"I promise not to start throwing punches," Amanda said.

The lift let them out on the bottom and they were able to group more tactically as they made their way through a couple rooms to a large containment area with multiple human-sized tanks.

The tanks were all empty.

Behind him, Nat cursed in Russian. Tony cursed in English.

Amanda grabbed Barnes's arm and dragged him over to one, making him translate as she scrolled through read outs and information. "Looks like they were thawed out less than two hours ago," she called over her shoulder. "We literally just missed them.”

“Could they be in here somewhere?” Steve asked.

"I don't think there's much left we haven't seen," Nat said. "We passed the barracks and training rooms. There's only the control room and medical area." She pointed to a door past them.

"Stark, can JARVIS do a scan for heat signatures or something?" Sharon asked.

“Not very well. It’s a missile silo, things are lead lined.” He turned. “Someone come clear the other rooms with me.”

Amanda grabbed Barnes back when he tried to volunteer. "I'm still reading things."

Barton shook his head. "I got your back, Stark.”

“Today you’re my favorite person whose name starts with Bar.”

"That warms my heart, you don't even know.”

“Piss off!” Barnes called.

“They wouldn’t be here,” Natasha said.

They all turned to look at her. "You're sure?" Sharon asked.

“They’d have cut the elevator cables and then waited to kill anyone who survived the fall.”

There was a moment of silence, then Barnes piped up, "She has a point."

Sharon nodded. "All right. Anyone have any idea where they might go next? Amanda, anything in the files?"

She shook her head. "Near as I can tell this is all medical related. Years of vital signs and such." She made a face. "I was really hoping for something about the serum.”

Tony and Barton came back out. “It’s clear. I think this is a dead end.”

Everyone relaxed, lowering their weapons. Sharon took a deep breath. "I'm open to suggestions for next steps.”

“We can’t go home,” Barnes said. “I’m pretty sure there’s a warrant out for all our arrests by this point.”

Sharon looked over at Nat, who shook her head. "I don't know where they would go from here."

"Might there be something in the SHIELD files?" Amanda asked.

"Maybe."

Tony clapped his hands together. "Okay. Sounds like we need a spot in a non-extradition country to sit and regroup.”

“I have a bolt hole in Venezuela,” Barnes said. “Probably would be a little cramped.”

" _Or_ we could try my mansion in Dubai.”

“Why do you phrase things like a question when you already have the answer?”

"I like the drama of it all."

Sharon waved. "All right, all right. Everyone back on the plane.”

“Am I the only one who wants to take the stairs now?” Steve asked.

"I'm with you," Amanda said, walking past.

On the plane, Tony told them the rest of the team was diverting and would meet them in Dubai. Then Amanda started passing out MRE's again, probably just for something to do.

Steve noticed he, Sharon, and Nat all got two.

"These are better than they used to be," Nat muttered after a few bites.

"They have pop tarts now!" Sharon agreed.

“Food is so much better in the future,” Steve said. “Though there was a period in the middle there when it was worse.”

Nat looked over at him, head tilted thoughtfully. "How so?”

“People were obsessed with disgusting combinations of things suspended in gelatin.”

"And everything was boiled," Amanda chimed in.

"We did that, too," Sharon admitted.

“Yeah, I don’t miss the boiled,” Steve said.

"Don't try any bananas," Barnes told Nat. "Carter over there freaked out the first time."

"They're _different_ and _weird_.”

“What the hell is wrong with bananas?” Tony asked.

"In the 1950s a disease wiped out the Gros Michel banana," Amanda told him. "Which would have been the banana most people in the 1930s and 40s would have been familiar with. The one we eat now is called the Cavendish and is actually at risk of a similar fate."

He stared at her a moment. "Why do you know that?"

"I watch a lot of documentaries."

"There's a _banana_ documentary?"

"Not specifically, but there's a lot of documentaries about food and why we eat it. Want to know why nothing grape flavored actually tastes like grapes?”

He squinted at her. “Maybe.”

"Concord grapes-"

"Are they always like this?" Nat asked Sharon and Steve.

"Sometimes they're worse.”

Nat laughed a little. “Am I crazy or does it remind you a little of Peggy and Howard?”

Sharon's eyes widened "Oh, my God, it _does_.”

“I don’t think she’s punched him yet,” Steve said. “Though, I could be wrong. But otherwise. . . _yeah_.”

"Amanda's too subtle for punching," Sharon said. "She's slip something in his drink.”

“I heard that,” Amanda said mildly. After a pause, she added. “And I agree.”

"Most female killers are poisoners," Barnes added, somehow managing to make it sound affectionate.

“I wasn’t allowed to use poison,” Nat said, her voice sounding like the memory was surfacing as she was talking about it. “Seems obvious, particularly for someone called the Black Widow, but they only tried once.”

There was a moment of quiet, then Amanda asked, "Did something happen?”

She hesitated, seeming to realize the audience she had. Then she squared her shoulders and said, “I took it myself.”

Sharon lifted a hand like she might touch her, then stopped herself. "I'm sorry, Nat.”

“I survived, because of whatever Zola did to me. But they were cautious afterwards. And got better at wiping my memory.”

Now Sharon did touch her, fingers light on Nat's arm. Steve and Barnes both tensed, but Nat glanced down at touch but didn't otherwise react. "That will never happen again," Sharon said quietly.

Nat looked up at her a moment, then said, “I believe you.”

She smiled and squeezed her arm before leaning back. 

*

The Stark Mansion, Dubai, was on the tip of a large man-made island shaped like a palm tree. It was a profoundly ostentatious location, and the house itself did said location justice. They landed on a helicopter pad on the roof of one of its garages, which already contained a second jet—likely meaning the rest of the team had arrived. Sharon liked those guys.

“The house has eleven bedrooms,” Stark was telling them. “So nobody has to share.”

“What are you going to do with a house with 11 bedrooms?” Barnes asked. 

“Have you people over. Obviously.”

"We can share if we want to, right?" Amanda asked. "I can admit publicly I'm living in sin with James and not sneak around after midnight like a spinster at Regency house party?”

“You couldn’t sneak, JARVIS knows where everyone is at all times.” He looked at her as they started down the elevated walkway connecting the garage to the house. “I don’t care if everyone shares a bed. Whatever blows your skirt up.”

"Don't suppose you have a stash of clothes for guests on the lam?”

"I can probably scrounge something up.” They reached large glass doors leading into the house. On the other side, Sharon could see a dark haired woman with glasses, red lipstick that reminded Sharon of the ’40’s, and a tablet. Whomever she was, she caused Stark to stop so abruptly they almost had a pile up. 

He was standing there holding the door half open, and the woman called, “You’re letting the air conditioning out!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Handling your shit,” she replied. “Who’s the redhead? JARVIS, you did not tell me there were extra people.” That one was directed at the ceiling. She looked back at her tablet.

“Is Pepper here?” Stark asked.

“Yes, she’s asleep.” She didn’t look up, tapping her screen. “Yes, she’s still throwing up. Please let everyone else inside the building.”

Sharon turned a little. “Barnes?” Her voice indicated she would like him to explain this odd little tableau.

“That’s Pepper’s assistant, Darcy. There will not only be guest clothes, they will be folded neatly and laid out in our already assigned rooms. Probably with little calligraphic cards. She’s superhuman.” He said it with a mixture of respect and awe.

She adjusted her glasses with one finger. "Hi all, my name is Darcy Lewis and getting shit done _is_ my superpower."

Amanda waved over Stark's shoulder. "Hey Darcy, how've you been?”

"Hanging in there, Doc. Can you go see Pepper once you've had a chance to rest?"

"Is she eating only Skittles again?"

"I managed a couple Rice Krispie Treats today."

Amanda sighed. "Well, there's butter in those. That's kind of a protein.”

“I had the chef mix protein powder in with the marshmallows. Eighteen grams a bar. She didn’t notice.”

"Excellent." She gave a thumbs up. "Let me shower and change and I'll pop in. I'm thinking we try smoothies next.”

Steve held out a hand. “I’m Steve Rogers, this is Sharon Carter.”

"Nice to meet you." She shook his hand, then Sharon's. "If you'll come with me I'll show you your rooms. I'm guessing you'd like to clean up a bit before dealing with the rest of them.”

“Oh, wait,” Sharon said, turning to gesture for Nat. “This is Natasha. You said she wasn’t on your list. Can you put her next to us?”

Darcy checked her pad again. "Yes, I can do that. I'll see what I can do about clothes for her as well.”

“Thank you,” Steve said. 

"It's what I do." She turned on a heel and walked down the hallway. They followed her, Stark muttering something about her stealing his thunder.

They were shown to a room that might be best described as appallingly lavish. It was bigger than the entire cabin in Big Sur, and this was a guest room.

"Natasha will be in the one to the left, if that's all right?"

Sharon met Nat's gaze. "You'll be okay?"

She nodded, a little jerky. "A shower would be nice.”

“Each bedroom has its own bathroom, with a shower and a tub,” Darcy said.

"Thank you," Nat said quietly, opening her door. Sharon watched her as she went in, closing the door behind her.

“Chef starts breakfast orders at 7,” Darcy said. “Till whenever. You can tell JARVIS when to wake you if you want.”

"Thank you, Darcy," Sharon said. "I appreciate all of this."

She gave a little salute. "All part of the service. Doc and Barnes are right down the hall if you need them. JARVIS can show you."

“Thanks."

Inside the room, Steve sat on the end of the bed. “This has been the longest day I have ever had. And I have no idea what time it is, or what timezone we are in.”

She chuckled humorlessly and flopped onto the bed next to him. "I'm sure JARVIS could tell you.”

“It is 9:17PM, Gulf Standard Time,” the disembodied voice said immediately.

“Right,” Steve said. “Shower.”

She groaned and did a push up to get off the bed. "Shower is quicker, but bath would mean sitting. These are the decisions that try a woman's soul.”

“All the money I have says that tub will be big enough for two.”

That was sufficient motivation to get her moving. "Sold." She heard him chuckle a little as she strode to the bathroom.

It was just as large and opulent as the bedroom. The tub probably could have fit four and Sharon was a little worried it was going to take all night just to fill it. First she had to find the taps, though. 

“Uh,” Steve said, standing next to her.

Stark could never do anything simple. Sharon sighed. “JARVIS, fill the tub.” A slit in the wall beside the tub opened, and an enormous amount of water poured out, given that the UAE was basically a desert.

After a moment, Steve asked, “Did anyone explain JARVIS to Nat?”

She paused. "No. I don't think so.”

Steve sighed, and then JARVIS said, “There are regular taps on the showers.”

"She'll figure it out," Sharon said firmly. "She's been managing on her own this long.”

“No, I agree,” Steve replied, beginning to strip off his clothes. “She just wouldn’t have thought to ask the ceiling if she couldn’t turn on the shower, and when it replied it might scare the crap out of her.”

"All she has to do it make it through the night. In the morning I can give her the crash course in living on Stark's dime." She tugged the elastic out of her hair to let it fall loose, then carefully started to unfasten her uniform. She could feel him watching her, though she wasn’t sure if he was just admiring, or checking her for injuries. She had pulled a helicopter out of the sky that morning.

"Can you help get my undershirt off?" she asked. "My shoulders are still stiff.”

“You want me to just rip it?”

"I wouldn't stop you.”

He ripped it carefully, probably not wanting to aggravate the bruises she was sure she had, and gently kissed the back of her neck. She leaned back into him. "How bad do I look?”

“You never look bad, but you do look quite beat up.”

"What do you think our odds are of us getting a relaxing vacation here for a while?"

He reached to feel the water, the tub was almost full. “I’m going to put my hopes on a good night’s sleep and see where we go from there.”

"I suppose that will be a good first step." She leaned on the sink counter to step out of her pants. He knelt down to help with her boots, and she thought how nice it was to have a partner in life. Then he stood, and held out a hand to her.

She took his hand and paused to kiss him tenderly before bracing on him to climb into the tub. A little groan escaped her as she sank into the water, the heat sinking into her sore muscles.

He followed her, sinking down across from her with a sigh. “My day is already looking up.”

"A lot of my bad days would have been improved with a joint bath.”

“We should get a big tub for the house in SF.”

"Yes, we should. Something with jets.”

“And also taps.”  
She laughed and stretched her toes out to rub his leg. "Stark has offered to put JARVIS in the house.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

"I said no. JARVIS is handy, but at times also creepy." She glanced upwards. "No offense."

"None taken, Captain.”

“Is there soap or shampoo in this bathroom?” Steve asked, also looking up.

"There is a full assortment in the cabinet to your left.”

“Right,” he said, heaving himself out of the tub. Sharon enjoyed watching him walk, naked and dripping wet, across to the cabinet.

He caught her when he turned back, hands full of bottles, and gave her a smirk. "You got a nice ass, Rogers," she told him.

“I did nothing to earn it,” he replied with a grin.

"I won't hold that against you.”

He got back in the tub and said, “Come here, I’ll wash your hair.”

She slipped through the water, settling between his legs with her back to him. He braced her shoulders so she could dunk her hair into the water, then started to lather it with shampoo. His fingers massaged her scalp and neck as he did so and she sighed in relief.

“So I was thinking. . .” Steve said.

"Mmmm. About what?”

“You were in that river. Fooling around in this tub water is probably not the most sanitary idea ever.”

She laughed. "That is an excellent point.”

“But we will definitely do so in the tub we install at home.”

"Many times, I should hope.”

He dunked her to rinse her hair, and then put conditioner in. She couldn’t help but notice that his body didn’t seem to agree with his statement about not fooling around. She wiggled her rear against him rather deliberately. "Are you sure you don't want to fool around a little?”

He groaned. “You have to be exhausted.”

"I find myself with a second wind.”

He moved her hair to kiss her neck. “Let me rinse you.”

"Aw, hon, you say the sweetest things.”

“You don’t think I can make something out of that you clearly don’t know me well enough.”

She giggled and leaned back into his hands so he could dunk her hair and rinse out all the conditioner. When he straightened her up she tucked herself into his chest. He got some body wash and smoothed the lather over the parts of her that were out of the water. It didn’t really touch anything interesting, but it turned her on just the same.

He used handfuls of water to rinse her skin. When he was done, she shifted and turned to catch his mouth with hers. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and the kiss deepened. She sighed, melting into him. It had been such a long day, with one bad surprise after another. This, at least, was something good. Something she had a little control over, a little comfort.

“Are you sure?” he murmured. “You wrestled a helicopter today.”

She ran her hand along his leg. "I'm sure. Very, very sure." She kissed him again. "Does the helicopter thing turn you on at all?"

He chuckled. “Honestly? Yeah.”

Grinning, she kissed him one more time. "Well then. Wanna climb out of the water and fool around?"


	5. And So the Balance Shifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last lines of Yorktown has been playing in my head for a week. 
> 
> We _won_.

The Widow studied the woman in the mirror.

She was pretty - beautiful, even - if a little thin. Her red hair was clinging to her neck and shoulders, wet and almost black from the shower. Hydra had always kept it short, easy to care for. Her year on the lam she had let it grow out and found she liked it. Even if it did make her stand out more than most.

Lowering the towel a little, she checked on the scattering of bruises she'd picked up in the fight. They were healing well, at the speed she expected them to. Given the damage to the rest of them, she probably shouldn't complain. Not that she had been planning on it. Complaint hadn't been an option for a very long time.

She walked out to the bedroom and discovered clothes and been delivered and neatly folded on the large bed. Dropping the towel, she walked over naked and inspected the pile. There were loose black pants and a tank top. No bra, but the tank top was tight and there was a loose red tunic to toss over it. The pants were a little long and had room in the hips. She would bet they belonged to the dark haired woman who had met them.

For the first time in her memory, she was off base, unsupervised and unarmed. It was a strange, disorienting sensation. She didn't entirely know what to do with herself. She should be tired, but ghosts of adrenaline and paranoia running through her veins indicated sleep would allude her.

This morning she'd been buying fruit at the market and living in a one room shithole with intermittently functional plumbing. Now she stood in a mansion in Dubai, clean and relatively safe. The door wasn't locked and she hadn't been told she had to stay in her room. So she walked to the door and slipped out into the hallway.

It was empty in both directions. They had come from the left, there was nothing of interest that way. So she turned right and moved silently down the hall, passing several closed doors she assumed were other bedrooms.

She came to a t junction and went left on a whim, eventually finding herself in the kitchen. Sleep might evade her for a while, but she could always eat. So she opened the fridge and peered inside.

"Don't eat the rice krispy treats."

She swung around in surprise. The man who'd ridden in the van with her—Clint—was sitting on the counter, eating a cup of yogurt. She couldn't remember the last time someone snuck up on her. It was nearly impossible.

"I know," she replied. "They're for the pregnant woman." Though some extra protein wouldn't do her any harm either.

He held up his cup. "The yogurt is pretty good."

It was a place to start. She turned back to the fridge and took out a cup of mango flavored yogurt, closing the door. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked him, hopping up onto the counter opposite him.

"No, but that's pretty normal for me. You?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I was ready for a fight. A fight didn't happen. I think I need to. . ." She paused, considering the right word as she opened her yogurt and opened the drawer near her for a spoon. "Unwind," she finally decided on.

"There's a gym downstairs," he said. "If that's your sort of thing."

She ate her yogurt thoughtfully. "I've had enough training for a lifetime. Several."

"Fair enough. Carter likes to beat the shit out of punching bags when she's stressed out."

"Sharon has always liked beating things up." It was said with confidence she didn't have in her head, but in her gut.

"I believe that. She's never met a situation she she couldn't punch her way out of."

"I don't think I was like that. Before."

"I've never been like that," Clint said. "Too much attention. Too much noise. All I need is a good nest and and a long scope."

She studied him a moment. "You use the bow. I've never seen that before."

He matched her regard. He wasn't nervous at all. Something that interested her. She made anyone who knew who she was nervous, even Iron Man behind all his armor, even Sharon and Steve—though for them is was worry _for_ her and not fear _of_ her. Not this guy.

"You wanna see it?" he asked.

She arched her brows. "Your bow?" He nodded slowly, just once up and down. "I've never been trained in that." She slid gracefully off the counter. "Yes."

He had the bow in a case in his bedroom. All of the other weapons had been left on the jet, but he'd brought this one in. She wasn't surprised by the care with which he held it. "Anything propelled by gunpowder makes sound. What little sound this makes is not a sound modern ears recognize."

She ran a light finger along the arc of the bow. "You value silence."

"Yes. And stealth."

He held the bow out farther and she took it from him, testing the weight and balance of it. "I was not required to be stealthy. My job was to infiltrate. Or to hunt and destroy. Collateral damage would be dealt with."

"I don't take out anyone that doesn't need killing. If there is wholly innocent collateral damage, I consider myself to have failed." He looked through his quiver of arrows, and she thought about what he'd said in the van, about how he'd been made to kill his own people.

Lifting the bow, she held it out and drew it, without an arrow, aiming at an outside wall. She was cautious, aware of her strength, but she found she needed to pull harder than expected. "I don't know if I ever had a moral code. Whatever there was is gone now. I'm rebuilding."

"Barnes has a list of wrongs he's trying to right. I'm more of a nuke and start over kind of guy." He inclined his head. "You afraid of heights?"

She lowered the bow and looked at him. "No."

So they ended up on the roof of the building, him showing her how to shoot arrows—he called the junk arrows—out into the water in front of the house. 

It was. . . fun. Or as close to it as she thought she could get. There were no expectations. No pressure. he didn't care if she was good at it and neither did she. There was a meditative quality to it, a way of getting out of her head.

He handed her an arrow that was different from the ones she'd been shooting. It was much fancier. One of his real arrows, the kind he took into combat. "You should shoot this one," he said.

She studied it, twirling it through her fingers. "Does it do something?"

"Not particularly, other than the tip will pierce body armor. But you should shoot it because it was yours."

Her gaze moved to him. "Mine."

"The one with your name on it. I had it aimed at you, with orders to shoot if I had a clear shot." 

"In Romania." He'd been on the roof across the street. It had been a day ago and somehow much longer as well.

"JTTF vastly underestimated what I consider a clear shot—fine by me. But I had eyes on you the whole time. You saw me because I wanted you to."

"I know." She'd known that at the time. He was too good, too careful, too quiet. If he'd wanted to be unseen she wouldn't have seen him. She might have known, gut-level, she was being watched, but she wouldn't have known where he was.

She studied the arrow again, twirling it from one knuckle to another. The arrow with her name on it. A lot of projectiles had probably had her name on them, over the decades. This wouldn't be the last. Even if she stayed with Sharon, turned everything around, stopped being the Widow, trouble seemed to find her.

But. Maybe. She didn't have to be alone when facing it anymore. Maybe she could be something other than what she had been.

She notched the arrow to the bow and pulled the string back. The other arrows she'd aimed more or less for the center of the bay. This one, she aimed at the highway across from them. She didn't put enough tension on it to reach, but it meant that when she let it fly it arced gracefully before plummeting into the water.

"Nuke it and start over," she said, watching the ripples spread.

*

Ping-ponging through timezones, and the fact that they needed less sleep, had Steve and Sharon up early. When she finished her shower and they went to look for food because they both were starving. 

Steve found the kitchen by the smell of food, and the sound of Thor's booming voice. Steve had never met the man in person, but he'd seen him on TV, and Sharon spoke very highly of him.

Sure enough, when the Asgardian saw them enter the room he called out, "Captain!" and crossed the room to sweep her up in a hug. 

He lifted her, which made Steve chuckle. When he set her down, Sharon introduced them. "I have heard great things about you," Thor said.

"Likewise," Steve replied. There was a woman sitting at the kitchen table eating toast that looked familiar to Steve, though he couldn't place her. It felt like someone he'd known in one of his previous lives.

"Hi," she said around her toast. She swallowed and stood enough to hold out her hand. "I'm Hope Pym. The Wasp. You never see me on TV because I shrink."

Steve shook her hand. Now he knew why she looked familiar. "Steve Rogers. You're Hank and Janet's daughter?"

"That's me. Dad's told me stories about you. He said to say hi."

Barnes and Amanda were at the other end of the table, looking like they regretted being awake. Steve waved. They gave him matching half hearted waves and Barnes got up to refill his coffee cup.

"Not morning people," said a quiet voice on Steve's other side.

He turned to see Bruce Banner, looking for all the world like a rumpled professor, sipping his own cup of coffee. "Steve Rogers, I presume?"

"I am," he said. Before he could say anything more, Sharon came over to give Bruce a hug.

It did not escape his notice how happy the team made her.

"It's good to see you, Cap," Banner said when she released him.

"You too, Bruce. How's the big guy?"

"Disappointed he hasn't come out to play, I think. But otherwise quiet. How's California?”

"Foggy and calm."

"Sorry you got dragged out into all this," he replied.

She lifted a shoulder. "It was bound to happen eventually."

"And I'm sorry about Peggy."

Now Sharon smiled and gave him another hug. "Thank you."

Steve went to get some breakfast, watching the others filter in. Sharon really was in her element among them. He knew she felt a little lonely, and a lot directionless, and these people seemed to settle her. Even if neither of them wanted to admit it.

The last of them finally trickled in, including Hope's partner and side-kick, Scott, who seemed rather star struck when introduced to Sharon. "I know I talk to superheroes all day, but it's Captain America."

"You can call me Sharon," she said, though she was grinning widely. "Really."

"I'm not sure I can. Really."

"Rogers, please go teach him how to be a normal-er Superhero's Boyfriend," Barnes said. "Please."

"Would you believe that man did a stint in San Quentin?" Hope added.

"I am standing right here," Scott said. Steve offered him a piece of toast.

Nat was the very last to arrive, in loose, casual clothes, hair brushed back from her face and curly. Everyone paused awkwardly when she entered, but she seemed to not notice, or decided to ignore it, going to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup.

"So," Tony said. "Now we need to find our target."

"Do you think it's worth going through the SHIELD files?" Sharon asked.

"I think that's the only lead we have right now."

"How much do we have access to here?" Steve asked, coming to sit at the table.

"Everything in the dump," Tony said. "JARVIS is here, and so is all the stuff he knows. It's just a matter of figuring out what, exactly, we're looking for."

"To start with, we should figure out who it was that triggered Nat." She looked over at Barnes. "I don't suppose we have any pictures of him from the JTTF surveillance?"

"I feel like that's something that could be obtained."

"Yeah, no problem," Tony said. "Their security is shit. JARVIS will get it."

Sharon nodded. "So start with that, figure out known associates and maybe from there were can get an idea of where he'd go."

Tony got up to get more coffee. "It has to be Hydra. Infesting yet another government organization. Is anyone else exhausted with this? I'm exhausted."

"Eventually we'll run out of agencies," Barnes offered.

"Cut off one head, two more will grow in its place," Steve muttered.

Nat snorted into her coffee mug. "Do you think any of them ever noticed their logo is wrong?"

He started to laugh. "Holy shit I never thought of that."

"She's right," Barnes said. "it's an octopus, or a squid. One head, many tentacles."

"Seventy years you'd think someone would have noticed that," Sharon said, laughing.

"They weren't that observant."

JARVIS dug up the security footage, and they got a clear shot of the face of the man who had talked to Nat. They also pulled up his employment record. . . and discovered the photo in it had a different face.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Amanda said, "I mean, good news, JTTF might not be compromised?"

They'd gone down into the house's movie theatre—because of course—and were looking at this guy's face on a big screen. "I don't particularly want to ask them and tip our hand," Tony said.

"You want me to go up and poke around?" Hope asked. 

"Not right now," Sharon said before Tony could reply. "Let's see if we can figure out who this guy really is. Let's dig through more of the SHIELD files. He must have-"

"He's a Sokovian special ops agent," Amanda said from the back row.

They all turned to look at her and she lifted her lap top, turning to show them the screen. "Google image search. I couldn't shake the feeling I'd seen him before. A picture of his team was featured in an unsolved mysteries series I watch."

"Are they a source of mystery?" Barton asked.

"They've been connected with the disappearance of a high profile virologist about six years ago. His body was found three weeks later, with signs of having been tortured." She resettled her laptop. "This guy - Zemo - and his team were disavowed by the Sokovian government soon after. There's speculation they were involved in the kidnapping, botched it somehow, and were then left in the cold."

"Well that sounds like the making of a mercenary," Barnes said. "I should know." He turned. "Romanov. You're closer to the ground on that world than I am at this point. Anything ring a bell?"

She blinked and tilted her head, thinking. "Sokovia rings a bell. There's been a lot of jobs coming out of that area lately. I didn't pursue any. They didn't feel right."

"JARVIS," Tony said. "Pull up everything you can find in the SHIELD files about Sokovia."

The image on the movie screen blanked out and a moment later was filled with a variety of file names and photos. "Two safe houses," JARVIS said. "A smattering of missions over the last few decades - mostly low level peacekeeping. A file of what appears to be reconnaissance pictures with no further context."

"Pull them up."

One of the files enlarged and a series of photos of a stone castle and surrounding forest filled the screen.

"That's an evil scientist lair if ever I saw one," Scott commented.

"Right," Tony said. "JARVIS, have a full scan done when the satellite comes around." 

"About twenty minutes, sir. Also, Ms Potts is up and wants to know if she can come down and say hello to Captain Carter."

Sharon grinned. "I'd love to see Pepper."

The door open a moment later and the other woman came in, Sharon hopping up to go see her.

"I remember hearing about that thing in the news,” Bruce said. “Made the rounds at the university I was working at. Dr. Cane worked for the CDC. We all thought whomever did it was looking to make bio weapons. Smallpox, etc.” He gestured at Tony. “There was a brief fad for kidnapping scientists to try and get them to make you things.”

"I've always been on the cutting edge of trends."

"Bioweapons sounds up Hydra's alley," Barnes said. "As does trying to torture someone to get it."

“They could also have been trying to make supersoldiers,” Steve said. They all looked at him, and to Amanda he added, “Isn’t that kind of how it works.”

She inclined her head. "The serum functions similar to a dormant virus, essentially flaring up when damage is done. If one wanted to make a new serum, a virologist would be a good place to start."

"Wouldn't, uh, you be a good place to start?" Bruce asked.

"I would be an excellent place to start. Which is why since the revelation of Hydra I've changed up my routines, carried a weapon and spend most of my free time with James."

"I don't think Hydra is dumb enough to do something that's guaranteed to bring the entire Avengers down on their head," Tony said. "Let alone some random terrorist group—which this really might be." 

"Aww," she said. "You do like me."

"Don't let it go to her head." 

Sharon and Pepper came back into the main part of the room. "You know, if you were going to poke the Avengers with a stick, having a quintet of Black Widows probably would help a lot."

"And then fortify yourself in a medieval castle," Barnes added. "Seems legit."

"It does look very defensible," Nat said, pointing to the screen. "Good sightlines in all directions, rough terrain. And the woods would be a great place for ambushes."

"I like you," Barton said.

She glanced over at him, looking perplexed, but eventually smiled.

"Satellite images of the area are available, sir," JARVIS said.

"What are you waiting for, a tap dance?" Tony replied. "Put them on the screen."

"I do like it when you dance, sir," JARVIS replied, causing Stark to make a face at the ceiling.

The first image came up, a similar aerial of the building to SHIELD's images. The next was the same, but overlaid with a huge white circle radiating from the center. Like a lens flare or a flashbulb. "What the hell is that?" Steve asked.

"That is an infrared scan of the building's energy output," JARVIS replied. 

"I know I'm still adjusting to all this new fangled twentieth century technology," Sharon said slowly. "But that looks like more energy than an abandoned medieval castle should be putting out."

"That's more energy than a nuclear reactor should be putting out," Bruce said. "The only thing I've seen that could do something like that is the Tesseract."

The whole room seemed to turn and look at Thor, who held up his hands. "It is safe in Asgard's vaults, I assure you."

"That is almost more concerning," Hope said. "That means there's something _else_ on earth with that kind of power."

"They emptied the Fridge in the chaos after SHIELD collapsed," Barton said. "God knows what's out there. How many 0-84s have we chased?"

There was a collective groan around the room, which Steve took to mean "a lot."

"We need to go check this out," Sharon said. "Massive energy source in a remote location in the home country of the guy who just freed five Black Widows? I do not believe in coincidences that deep."

"Yep," Tony said. "Everybody suit up."

They all stood, even Nat. "I'm not sure I have a suit." She'd gone to the bunker yesterday in the flannel and jeans she'd been wearing when arrested.

"I've got some extra gear," Hope said. "We'll sort you out."

"Me too," Steve said. “I need gear, I mean. Barnes is probably the closest."

Nat nodded. "Thanks."

Amanda called as they filed out into the hallway. "How's my suit coming, Stark?"

"What makes you think I have a suit for you?" he replied. "You've insisted very strenuously you do not want to be an Avenger. Why would I build you a suit?"

"It's on the jet," Hope said. "He's had me testing it because I fit in it. Seems flight worthy, so we brought it along."

"I think you should probably calibrate the defibrillator yourself before you use it," Bruce added.

"Of course I will," she said, tossing Tony a smug smile. "You're predictable."

"Pot, kettle."

“At least he didn’t fire us for sass again,” Hope commented.

“That’s for after we save the world."


	6. Chapter 6

It surprised Sharon how much she enjoyed being on the jet with the team. Sure, they were on their way to a fight against unknown enemies with potentially extreme odds. But they were also watching Stark and Amanda bicker over setting up her suit while Barnes offered color commentary.

Nat came to sit next to her. "I like your team.

Sharon smiled. "Me too. They're a good group."

"They remind me of our team during the war. Which is my last set of good memories."

"They're a lot like that." She nodded to Amanda and Stark. "He's so like his father, though we can never say that to him."

"You know I slept with his father once. Don't think I should tell him that, though."

Sharon stared at her a moment. "I didn't know that."

She shrugged. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

After a moment's pause, Sharon prompted, "Well?"

"He would say anything and tell whatever lies he could think of in order to get into a woman's knickers—which is why so many wanted to slap him—but he sure knew what he was doing once he got there."

She leaned back. "Well that solves a seventy year mystery."

Nat sighed. "Did I really kill him?"

"The Black Widow killed him." Sharon looked at her. "What you did, all those years, it wasn't you."

"Maybe it was me. Stripped down to my elements, without my memories, that's what I am. Erskine chose you and not me for a reason."

"That's not taking into account all the things Hydra did to you."

She lifted a shoulder, her face saying she didn't buy it, but wasn't going to push. Sharon decided to drop it as well. It was something that would take time for her to process and nothing Sharon said would probably ho anything either way.

"We're about twenty minutes out," Barton said over the intercom. "If you could wrap up the comedy routine."

"Give up, Barton," Hope called. "It's permanent." Sharon could certainly imagine how much joking went on while they were fighting, given how it was at the Battle of New York.

But the mood did change nonetheless, everyone buckling down and getting their gear ready. 

She went up to the cock pit to check timing. "You can put us down in the trees? I don't want to park on their doorstep.”

“Yep,” Barton said. “I’ve got stealth mode on, they won’t see us unless they’re looking for us.”

"Great." She turned back to the rest of them. "Hope, you and Scott should go first, get us some recon. I'm not expecting a lot of resistance. If we're lucky they'll think we're still in Vienna trying to sort out this cluster.”

“Got it,” Hope said.

"When we get into the fight leave the Widows to us heavy hitters. Barnes and Barton I want you sniping as much as possible. They could take your head off with one punch, so avoid close combat. If we can arrest Zemo to bring him back fi the JTTF that's great but let's not underestimate him.”

“Am I waiting for a code green or am I going in with you guys?” Bruce asked. “I mean, if this is a heavy hitter situation. . .”

"I'd like you in there with us from the start," Sharon said. "If you think the big guy will play nice with some new team members. Like I said, I don't know what kind of resistance we'll be getting, but five Widows is a lot to handle and they'll have trouble knowing how to fight the Hulk.”

“He’ll be fine, he knows who his people are.”

She nodded brusquely. "Good. Thank you, I know you've been keeping out of the field.”

Barton found a clearing to put down in, and they opened a small port in the hull that Sharon was informed had been specifically installed so Hope and Scott could get out without having to open the ramp. Waiting for recon always seemed to take longer than it should.

“Is this Zemo the only one we need to keep alive?” Thor asked.

Sharon glanced over at Tony, who gave her a very helpful shrug. "Barring further intel, yes," she said. "According to Nat, the widows are unstable. I don't want to risk lives trying to get them back on ice."

Amanda cleared her throat and Barnes put a hand on her arm. "Honey, think really hard about what you're about to say and ask yourself if it's something a scientist in a horror movie would say."

She scowled at him a moment, then said, "Never mind.”

“Just checking if I had to. . .pull my punches, I believe is the phrase,” Thor said. 

"I'd say you can go all out."

“Careful knocking walls down,” Steve said. “The building is an antique.”

"Death by falling roof would be an ignominious end to this adventure," Barnes agreed.

The comms beeped on. “This is Lang, do you copy?”

Sharon glanced up, since that was where the sound was coming from. "Carter here, what's it look like?”

“So. . . you guys remember that stick you were looking for last year?”

She closed her eyes, a feeling of dread tightening her skin. "The scepter?”

“Yeah. That’s got to be the energy you’re seeing on the satellite.”

Hope came on the line. “The number of cracks, gaps, and holes in every ceiling and wall in here is truly astounding. It’s in a lab type space and not particularly well guarded. We could just grab it.”

“Shrinking that thing is probably a bad idea,” Tony said. “Just from the energy output.”

"You make a good point," she conceded.

"Well, that answers one question," Sharon said. "Any eyes on Zemo or the Widows?”

“Lots of guards on the upper levels. I can’t tell if any of them are the Widows.”

“Hang on, actually,” Scott cut in. “Uh, Natasha? Are they all, uh, like you?”

"They're all women," she replied. "Either in tac gear, or tank tops and uniform pants. They aren't all redheads.”

“No, I mean, are they. . .” 

“He’s making the ‘hourglass’ hand motions,” Hope said, with a slightly indulgent, exasperated tone that reminded Sharon of both Amanda and Pepper. She bet the three of them were friends. “You’re asking if they’re all hot?” Hope clarified.

“Kinda, yeah.”

Nat's mouth was quirking. "The serum does accentuate positive physical attributes."

"So that's a yes, then?"

"Scott?" Amanda asked in exasperation. "Are you looking at five hot, buff women?”

“Some of the female guards did seem—I mean, not that I’m _looking_ , but. . .The guards are all straight out of central casting. A couple of the lady guards look like they might have come from a different movie. Is all.” 

“There’s a statistically improbable ratio of D-cups,” Hope added, dry as a bone. “Not that he was looking.”

“I wasn’t!”

There were chuckles in the jet, and Tony muttered, “I wouldn’t admit to it either.”

"I would," Barnes said. "Manda knows where my affections lie."

"Developed pectoral muscles probably make them look bigger," Amanda added.

"Great," Sharon said, before this devolved further. "Now that the is mostly settled, you're saying the Widows are spread out as guards?”

“Yes, they seem to have them evenly distributed,” Hope said. "There are also some people in cells in the lab, we’re going to need to deal with that.”

Well that was a new wrinkle, but she'd deal with that when they got there. "Give us some exact locations for the scepter and the widows. We'll start heading in for the assault.”

Ten minutes later, they had a map of guard locations up on a screen inside the jet, superimposed over the building layout.

Sharon studied it for a minute. "Bruce, I'm going to want you on the main floor. There's three Widows there and I'm guessing the Hulk showing up will pull some guards from elsewhere. Thor, Barnes and Barton can back you up. Tony, Amanda, Steve and I will go with you down to the labs to secure the scepter. Nat, you feeling like punching or shooting?"

She blinked and looked over at her. It had been a long time since anyone had asked her opinion on an op. Which was why Sharon had done it.

"I'll come to the labs with you. Three against two for the Widows. If we clean them up early I can help the others upstairs."

Sharon nodded. "Sounds good. Anyone have questions or concerns?"

“We should talk about the stick,” Barton said quietly.

"It should be destroyed," Barnes said.

Tony looked at him. "Are you nuts? A couple days with that thing and I could-"  
"Okay, now you sound like a horror movie scientist," Amanda interrupted. "If I don't get tissue samples, you don't get magic stick.”

“We can call dibs after we get it,” Barton said. “I’m talking about if someone grabs it to use against us."

"Good point." Sharon glanced up. "Hope, Scott, I need you two to secure the staff as soon as the alarm is raised about our attack. If you can't get it, fall back and tell me." She looked at Tony. "You said when Loki tried to use it on you it didn't work?"

He nodded and tapped his reactor. "Didn't penetrate."

"Doc, you got one of those on your suit?"

"Yessum."

"If Hope and Scott can't get the scepter you two need to get it back.”

“If anyone gets hit by it,” Barnes said. “A good blow to the head seems to shake the control.”

"Noted." Sharon crossed her arms. "Anything else?”

“Let’s go kick some ass,” Steve said.

*

Natasha had never worked with a team like Sharon's. As the Widow, she'd been given orders and a certain amount of autonomy in getting her job done. Soldiers with her would follow her lead and handle secondary targets while she focused on the mission. But there was no actual team work. No camaraderie.

It was, in a weird way, fun. Fighting two Widows at once, trading off with Sharon and Steve so no one was overwhelmed, the doctor and Stark taking potshots from their suits to help them out. The three of them bounced Sharon's shield between them, keeping their opponents on their toes and keep their attacks as unpredictable as possible.

“Guys, we have a problem,” Hope said over the comm. She was somewhere in the bowels of the building guarding the scepter.

Sharon caught her shield just in time to block a blow from a Widow with a grunt. "End of the world problem or Scott needs the bathroom problem?”

“A problem where someone who moved so fast I couldn’t see them took the stick.”

"That is a problem." She looked over at Nat, and she managed to shrug. To the best of her knowledge, none of the widows had super speed.

"It's one of the people from the cells," Scott reported. "They're empty now."

Amanda kicked the Widow Nat was fighting in the face, sending her flying, before landing next to them. "They were experimenting on them, using the scepter. Jarvis is in their records and feeding them to me. If you see the girl get the hell away from her, she can fuck with your head."

"You're reading while fighting?" Stark asked over the comms.

"Women are good at multitasking.”

“Are they fighting for their captors?” Steve asked, leaning against a wall to catch his breath.

"Haven't hit anyone yet," Hope said. "But I can't track 'em with his speed."

"Main floor, how are you doing?" Sharon asked.

"Two Widows neutralized," Barton replied. Hulk's roar echoed on his comms. "Third one's not looking good."

"I need you and Barnes to help Lang and Pym in the basement. Thor, come help us with these Widows, I'm tired of whittling them down. Amanda, Tony, once Thor gets here, go secure the lab.”

There was a chorus of confirmations, then a moment later they could hear Thor laugh. “Nice try, but you are not worthy.” Pause. “Captain, I have obtained the scepter, and it’s thief.” 

“Is he secure?” Barnes asked.

“He’s pinned under Moljnir, I assure you he is not going anywhere.”

"Good job, Thor," Sharon said. Nat liked that she still said thank you. "Everyone keep an eye out for his partner.

"Sister," an unfamiliar voice said at Nat's elbow. It startled her, instinct took over, and she slugged the girl standing next to her, knocking her out.

"That's one way to do it," Stark said after a beat of silence.

“I am almost a hundred years old,” Steve said, coming over to them and crouching down, “so my perception might be off, but she looks really young.”

"She is," the doctor confirmed, crouching on the other side to examine her. "Under twenty, I'd say."

"I didn't mean to hit her," Nat said. "It was instinct. She was in my blind spot."

"Their experiments with the scepter enhanced her," Amanda said, scanning the girl with her suit. "You didn't do her any lasting damage. And prevented her from brain washing anyone. Don't beat yourself up.”

“Hulk got the last one,” Barnes said over the comm. “Widows are all down. Regular goons from here on out.”

"Well, that changes the math." Sharon looked down at the doctor. "Can you sedate the girl? We'll take them with us, but we should clear out the last of the guards and secure any research they did on the scepter."

She was already digging in the arm of her suit for a syringe. "I'm on it, go on, I'll be fine."

"Barnes, come guard your girlfriend," Sharon said, waving Nat and Steve towards the doors. 

Her face plate was down, but Nat was pretty sure the doctor was giving Sharon a dirty look.

*

Steve was not surprised to find the castle, magnificent Supervillain Lair that is was, had a dungeon.

Tony was the first one to get down there, which meant the rest of them got a running commentary on its contents while they fought the last of the guards. It was a door off the lab and down an apparently creepy flight of stairs. A lot of things that had been missing since the fall of SHEILD were stored in the cells. 

“I’m going to build one of these under the Tower,” he told them all. “For when Doc finally turns evil.”

"Needs more heads in jars," Sharon said, rubbing a spot on her ribs.

“Don’t give her ideas,” Tony said.

The cells at the farthest end of the hall looked lived in. The two teenagers had been kept upstairs, so Steve assumed they were for the widows. “Hey, Sharon,” he called.

"Yes, dear?" she replied, peering into a crate marked 084.

“Come look at this.”

She came down the hall, looking wary. "What is it?”

“They were keeping them down here.” It looked like a prison cell in there, but an occupied one.

"Not exactly the Ritz," she said, studying the room grimly. "I wish there was something we could have done for them.”

Steve kept walking, until he came to a door that was locked, and peering through the small door window, he could see a bloody dead body. Heavy oak, thick iron, and stone made it difficult to kick in, even for him. “I need some firepower down here,” he called in the direction of the rest of them.

Tony came down to help, burning through the lock plate with a laser. "JARVIS is almost done downloading their research. You want me to have him delete their copy so no one else finds it?"

Sharon seemed to consider a moment. "Take out the research, but you need to leave enough to turn over to the JTTF to get us out of hot water. Anything about the Widows or Zemo or that sort of thing."

Tony tilted his head, probably listening to JARVIS. "Yeah. He says there's plenty of stuff we can leave behind. I'll have him start curating."

Satisfied Tony would handle it, Steve stepped into the room to look down at the body. “Why does this guy look familiar to me?”

“JARVIS says his name is Von Strucker and he used to work for SHEILD. Level 8.”

“That’ll do it.” Steve looked at Sharon. “Is this our mastermind? Just. . . dead in a cell?”

“Dead in a cell that was locked from the inside,” Tony said, gesturing at it.

Sharon hunkered down and looked at him. "Shot to the head." She rolled him over, to reveal a gun beneath him. "Self inflicted, I'd say.”

“Death before capture is old-school Hydra,” Steve said. “They used to have cyanide capsules in their teeth.”

"I remember." She straightened and looked around. "No sign of Zemo, though.”

“I’ll go check the rest of the cells for more bodies,” Tony said. “Heat scans don’t have anyone live.”

"Thanks," Sharon said as he left to do so. She looked over at Steve. "I think once he comes back we're done here.”

He sighed. “I don’t disagree, but it still feels like the job’s not done.”

"Well," she said, drawing out the word. "We still have to clear ourselves with the JTTF and possibly the UN. Assuming we can do that without ending up in the RAFT, we have Nat and the two kids to figure out what to do with.”

He inclined his head. “Fair.”

She smiled. "But it was sort of fun fighting beside you.”

That got him to smile back. “It was entirely fun.”

"I'd kiss you, but-" She pointed down. "Dead body.”

He looked down at it. “Do the Avengers have a procedure for dead bodies? It occurs to me we have a lot of them, and there’s no more SHIELD to send a cleanup crew.”

She frowned. "I'll ask Tony. We may have to have that talk with the JTTF sooner than I'd like.”

He appeared in the doorway as if summoned. “Usually there’s a government or organization of some sort that requested or sanctioned our involvement. Since this is clearly a Hydra base, we technically have an ongoing cleanup mission.”

"That sounds like good news," Sharon said. "We're almost, sorta, tangentially approved.”

“By the JFTT. Who the fuck knows how that is going to go down. I’m going to have JARIVS send them all the data when we’re back in Dubai, and then we can argue with Ross over video.”

Sharon tilted her head. "I'm good with that. Did you finish your sweep?”

“Rest of the cells are empty. Thor took the scepter back to the jet so JARVIS could do a full IR scan, there’s nobody alive in here we don’t have accounted for.”

"All right. Let's clear out and head back to Dubai.”

The jet was a little more crowded with their new passengers, and some items that had been taken from the base. The girl was still asleep from the sedatives Amanda had given her. Her brother was sitting with her, looking pretty pissed off but not shackled, so some agreement must have been come to.

Sharon huddled up with some of the others who'd had time to talk to them. "Get anything out of them?"

"They're twins," Amanda said. "Nineteen years old. Orphans. Volunteered for the experiments. They were the only survivors out of thirty attempts."

Steve arched a brow. "You got all that out of them?"

She shook her head. "Out of the files. All I got from him was his name and a bunch of Sokovian cursing James refused to translate. They didn't know about the other candidates till I told him.”

“But he’s cooperating?”

"I convinced him we were their best bet for getting out of the country," Nat said. "And not arrested and studied. They hate Stark, though.”

“Why?” Steve asked. “I mean, I’m never surprised that he’s pissed someone off, but curious as to how their paths crossed.” 

Nat glanced over her shoulder and said something to the boy in Sokovian. He gave a long, intense answer, she replied briefly, then turned back to the rest of them. "They spent a couple days staring at an unexploded Stark missile that destroyed their building and made them orphans.”

That would probably do it. Steve looked over at them a moment, then back at Amanda. “How concerned are we about this? We’re taking them back to Dubai; Pepper’s still there.”

She crossed her arms. "If they wanted us dead, the girl could have done it two minutes after getting out of her cell. They're angry and they were desperate enough to sign up for illegal experimentation to try to get some vague form of revenge. But I don't think they're cold blooded killers." She paused and raised her voice. "Are you, Pietro?"

The boy looked disgruntled but replied in English, "No. Wanda said your Captain had good intentions.”

Steve gave a nod. “We have been scientific experiments ourselves, Cap and I. Voluntarily.”

He inclined his head. "Strucker made promises. Once Wanda's. . . abilities grew, she realized he had lied about many of them. Your attack gave us an opportunity to escape." He glanced towards the front where Tony stood. "Lesser of two evils.”

“That’s usually how it rolls.” He looked at Wanda. “She going to agree when she wakes up?”

He nodded. "Wanda is the level headed one.”

“We got everything?” Barton called from the front. “Closing the ramp.”

"Take it up," Sharon called back. "I'm done with cold and ice.”


End file.
